


The Room

by freckleslikeconstellations



Series: You're Broken and He's Beautiful [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, sexual references/content, some strong language, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 89,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as you enter the room you find out that it's open to so many possibilities. It's where you can meet Moriarty again, where you can let him control you. But it's also got a door. A door that's unlocked. A door that you want to get through. Not to mention a door that you want to slam shut behind you so that you can carry on with the rest of your life. But will you be able to even reach that door? Let alone slam it shut behind you? Only time will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope you all had an amazing Christmas! :D 
> 
> Sorry for being so slow in getting this up! 
> 
> Needless to say I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> And I wish you all a very Happy New Year! :D

The room’s an almost perfect square, and as you go nervously past the woman inside it the first thing you take in around the form of the man in front of you is a comfortable looking brown leather settee, which resides at the back, opposite an equally comfortable brown leather armchair. A low, clear coffee table lies in between the two, perched on top of a small maroon rug and with a blue folder of papers and a small, green potted plant upon it. The walls are white and largely sparse, with only a couple of abstract paintings upon them. An umbrella leans against the wall to the left, next to a small, neat bookshelf, whilst you can hear the soft thrum of traffic, which filters through the partly open window at the back of the room. 

 

Magnussen himself is tall and thin, his face long and slightly angular, with thinning brown hair and a thin amount of stubble on his chin and over his top lip. Glasses rest over his cold, grey eyes and it’s them, which your own eyes get drawn to. Them that make a little breath escape you as you take in the man’s expression, whilst he drinks you in. And for a moment you feel like someone’s kicking at your gut, telling you to get out of there. But Mycroft needs you to do this you know, and maybe you do too, so you stay and try to focus on his smart professional appearance instead, taking in his dark suit, light blue shirt and the navy tie. 

 

Then, “Miss L/N, how are we doing today?” he says, his voice light and soft, and something about it makes something shift uncomfortably inside you. 

 

Whilst part of you also doesn't know how you’re supposed to reply to his question because obviously you've come to him for help, so although part of you, in that particular moment is fine, the larger part of you is far from being so. Especially when you add on top of everything the nerves that you feel from being in this new situation. So in the end you just settle on the words, “Not bad,” whilst you shrug a little. 

 

Magnussen smiles and you can see the slight yellowing of his teeth. He reminds you of a wolf, which must make you Little Red Riding Hood, and suddenly you wonder how old he is. He looks like he’s in his late thirties at the very least, but you get the sense that actually he’s a little younger than that. 

 

Yet you don’t get much chance to think on the matter any more because Magnussen questions, “Not bad, but could be better?” 

 

And, “I guess,” you say, sounding a little defensive without being able to help it, before you duck your head and fold your arms automatically over your chest. You unfold them just as quickly though, for you _can_ help that. 

 

Then, “Well, that’s what I'm here for,” he begins, and then when you look at him once more he clarifies, “To make you better,” so you nod, before you fold your arms across your chest anyway when he puts a delicate hand upon your shoulder and helps guide you further into the room. 

 

And again you feel that odd sense that you should get the hell out of there. For his fingers are so delicate upon you that they’re like the brush of a cobweb and they make you shiver. But you swallow and try to push such feelings of uncertainty back down. Then, ‘It’s just nerves,’ you tell yourself, ‘Nerves that this won’t work, nerves for what you might have to go through before it does. Nerves, that’s all.’ And you make to go and sit down upon the leather settee instinctively. 

 

But, “Sit on the armchair please,” Magnussen says, tilting his head down towards you as he does so, and his breath brushes against your skin, which causes you to shiver again and pull away from him automatically.

 

Then you turn to sit down on the armchair. It’s bigger than you’d thought and as you sink down upon it you feel like a vulnerable little girl again. Like Goldilocks on the biggest chair. And again you try to shake this feeling of unease off, tossing your head a little as Magnussen sits down on the leather settee opposite you. Then, whilst he pulls the blue folder towards him and begins to peruse it you wriggle a little on your chair, trying to get comfortable. But still that seems to be something that’s impossible to achieve right now, and as you huff out a little breath of both fear and frustration Magnussen looks up at you again. You freeze as soon as he does so, your arms stilling on the arms of the chair, before they slip off it so that your hands can come together and fidget once more. 

 

Magnussen’s lip quirks upward as he looks at you and you frown a little, not knowing what it means. 

 

Then, “You don’t like being touched,” he comments lightly, which makes the frown on your mouth deepen. For whilst that’s become something that’s primarily only true with regards to strangers you don’t like how he’s picked up on the fact that you didn't like him touching you then so quickly. Yet, “It’s just an observation,” he says, raising his hands in a placating fashion now, and so you relax a little, the word ‘observation,’ reminding you of both Mycroft and Sherlock. But, “Tell me Miss L/N,” Magnussen begins just a moment later, making you stiffen up again, “What made you want to come here to me to begin with?” 

 

And as you swallow your mind goes instantly to Mycroft. Mycroft’s pleading face when he’d first put Magnussen’s card in front of you and as he’d started to explain the purpose of him doing so. But then you think about how you want to get better too and of why one of the main reasons you want to do so is not just for your sake but for the sake of your relationship with Mycroft. So you meet Magnussen’s intent yet expressionless stare again, whilst you say, “Because other people wanted me to, but for myself as well,” and Magnussen slowly nods, jotting something down on a piece of blank writing paper that he’s got resting against the blue folder as he does so. 

 

Then, “Let’s concentrate on yourself for now,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking back up to you again. And you nod, thinking that’s probably for the best anyway after what you’d previously discussed with Mycroft. But then, “So, tell me about what's happened in your life to make you come here Miss L/N?” 

 

And as the now familiar and cold images of Moriarty above you begin to infiltrate your mind once more your breath catches tight in your chest and you duck your head again, your hands fidgeting with each other instinctively. 

 

But you look up once more when you hear the slight thud of Magnussen as he puts the folder back down onto the table again. The pen and paper end up on top of it too. And then for a moment Magnussen just folds and unfolds his hands on his lap. Then, as his hands come to clasp around each other once more he looks you straight in the eye and says, “Listen Miss L/N, I can help you get through whatever it is that you've gone through. But for me to do that you need to be honest with me. So, I am asking you, even though I know that you coming here and accepting that you need my help is a big enough deal in itself, to please tell me what you've been through, because then I can help you to make the progress that you want to far quicker”-

 

And as he breaks off then you nod, whilst you look at your knees. Then, knowing that he’s right about what you need to do next, you think on it all for one last moment, and see Mycroft’s pleading yet encouraging face in your mind as you do so, before you start to tell Magnussen about Moriarty, the man who had once been your only friend, and who had then gone on to rape you. 

 

*

 

Mycroft can’t concentrate. He’s aware of the lecturer’s mouth being open and aware that the man’s speaking, but even though he stares hard at the man’s lips the words just seem to wash over him. Whilst his hands fidget, alternating between picking up his pen, rolling it between his fingers and putting it back down again. And he’s aware that what with the movement of his hands and the nervous twitching of his leg that happens every now and again he’s probably annoying everyone that’s in the close vicinity. But he just can’t help it. Can’t help but look at his watch and compare it to the time on the clock on the wall, which appears to be two minutes quicker. Can’t help but wonder what you’re going through. For are you talking about your ordeal right now? Or are you sitting there letting Dr. Magnussen take the lead because you can’t find the right words to begin? And both options make him feel troubled. For as much as he hopes that you’re able to make the most of the session and at the very least get out some of what’s been troubling you, he can’t help but wish that he was the person you could get it out to all the same. But still he knows that this might be a good starting point for you to open yourself up to him more. So, with that in mind, as he continues to fidget, he hopes that you _will_ be able to open yourself up to Magnussen after all. 

 

*

 

“Sorry,” Molly apologizes to Greg after he catches her looking at the clock in the living room for the thousandth time, “I just can’t stop thinking about what F/N might be going through right now.”

 

And Greg shares a sympathetic glance with her now from where they’re both sitting close together on the settee. Then, as her face grows more troubled his own follows suit, before he pulls his arm back from where its been around her shoulders and breathes, “I bet Mycroft’s not doing too much better either.” 

 

And Molly looks at him knowingly. Then she sighs a bit, before she leans forwards and runs her hands through her hair. And her elbows end up resting on her knees, before she confesses, “I was so disappointed with the way that the summer went for them, I just wanted”- and she breaks off now and gives a bit of a hopeless shrug as she fails to find the right word. 

 

So, “For them to have a nice time?” Greg suggests. 

 

And, “Yes, well as nice as one as they could have had given the circumstances,” Molly gets out after a bit of a hesitation. 

 

So Greg nods. Then he can’t help but smile a little in spite of himself as he suggests, “And I suppose you want them to get back together?” whilst he looks at her knowingly, and Molly smiles a bit at that, before she looks away from him in embarrassment because he knows her so well.

 

Then she looks back at him a moment later and says, “Yes,” in a confident fashion, before she admits, “Well, actually, I'm trying to look at it like they haven’t truly broken-up, more like they’re just waiting for the right time, but I want to make sure that neither of them end up doing anything silly in the meantime,” and as she finishes Greg notices that her face takes on more of an anxious expression. 

 

So, wanting to make her feel better, he says, “Tell you what, you keep an eye on F/N and I’ll do the same with Mycroft. Then we can both try and make sure that nothing silly happens, okay?” whilst he gives Molly’s shoulder a little nudge with his own. 

 

And Molly smiles a little and lets out a bit of a watery laugh at that, before she rests her head down upon his shoulder. Then, “I just want them to have a happily ever after,” she breathes. 

 

And, “I know,” Greg tells her softly, and truly he does, for he wants such a thing himself, and Molly smiles again.

 

Then, “Thank you,” she tells him sincerely, before she twists around so that she can press a soft kiss to his shoulder, and Greg smiles in a boyish fashion as she does so, which makes her grin. 

 

Then, “Talking about happy ever afters”- Greg begins flirtatiously. 

 

But, “Oh God, I better go, my lecture’s in fifteen minutes,” Molly blurts out suddenly when she catches sight of the time again, before she gets up with a start. 

 

So, “Later then?” Greg checks. 

 

And, “Maybe,” Molly says as she turns back to smile at him quickly. Then she turns back and rushes off to grab her things, before she makes to hurry to the university. 

 

And left behind Greg lets out a bit of a sigh, before he slumps further down on the settee. For now that both Molly and he are back at university and considering that they didn't exactly get a chance to do anything more than kiss last year he’d been rather hoping that they might have more of a chance to get to know each other better physically. Still, it’s not like he doesn't get why Molly’s concerned about you, for heck he’s concerned. And he knows that equally it’s not her fault for having a lecture right now, but still it’s frustrating… 

 

*

 

“Sherlock I've got to go,” John says as he wrenches his head away from his lover’s. 

 

And Sherlock lets out a bit of a groan at that, before he whines, “But I haven’t found out which”-

 

Yet, “No, I'm sorry, I really am, but I've got to go, I'm going to be late as it is,” John persists, pushing Sherlock off him now and surging upwards, before he swings off the bed. 

 

Then he grabs at his jacket, which he’d managed to sling on the back of his chair, before Sherlock had pushed him down onto the bed upon his arrival. And then, after slipping it back on over his thin white t-shirt he turns his head back, and what he sees makes him let out a little breath. 

 

For Sherlock’s lying there, his arms bent and propping him up, his curls tousled, face slightly flushed and lips parted so that they can let out his soft breaths. Whilst his blue eyes stare at John with something both sheepish and intent inside them. 

 

And then the pair of them exchange a bit of a knowing grin with each other, before John checks, “I’ll see you later?” and Sherlock nods, so John just gives him one last look and a bit of a nod, before he hurriedly grabs his bag and departs, adjusting the collar of his red and white jacket as he goes. 

 

On his way he rolls his eyes a little though as he thinks about Sherlock’s latest experiment, or mission rather, which is to try and detect, which type of tea John’s been drinking just from kissing him and sliding his tongue around the cavern of John’s mouth. John had scoffed the first time that Sherlock had suggested doing it, saying that it would be rather easy since all he ever drank was builder’s tea. And he laughs a bit to himself now as he thinks that he really should have known not to make such comments. For that afternoon Sherlock had gone out and rushed back not too long after carrying a plastic bag full of different types of tea. He’d then instructed John to drink a different one each day, and he’d been conducting his new ‘experiment’ ever since. John had joked that if Sherlock just wanted to kiss him then he could without using the tea thing as an excuse. But Sherlock had acted then as if he was being the silly one, so John had just given up and decided that it was probably best to just go along with the idea. Whilst in any case, he knows that after they’d only been able to see each other once that summer, there’s little point in complaining about the fact that his boyfriend now wants to kiss him too much. 

 

Despite that fact however John had soon learnt that perhaps Sherlock _hadn't_ really been using the experiment strictly as an excuse to kiss him after all. For at most it just seems to be practice, but not as an entranceway onto anything else. As when he’d arched his body up against Sherlock’s without being able to help it, Sherlock had pulled away from him and hurriedly departed. They’d never discussed it after, and granted it had only happened two days ago, so there’s still time for them to do so. But still, it had been clear to John, from that one act alone, that Sherlock wasn't yet ready for anything else aside from kissing, so he’d tried to control his body more whenever they kissed to ensure that he didn't make Sherlock feel uncomfortable again. Something which hadn't been easy but which he’d been so far successful in. 

 

* 

 

By the time you finish talking there are tears streaming down your face, a tissue paper handkerchief scrunched up in one of your hands and a plastic cup of half-drunk water in front of you on the coffee table, which Magnussen had fetched for you when you’d faltered just a quarter of the way through your tale. 

 

Magnussen meanwhile has been making some notes throughout and now he leans back and rests his pen down on top of the folder that’s returned to his knees. Then he fixes you with a steady gaze, before he tells you, “Thank you for telling me all of that,” and you nod. Then, “Now, let me tell you how I'm going to help you,” he says, whilst he puts the folder down, before his eyes flick to you once more. And again you nod, before you watch as he clasps his hands together. Then he says, “Now, the first thing that I want to tell you is that if you decide to continue these sessions, which I hope you will”-

 

And, “I will,” you tell him, because no matter how much it hurts you need to do this, you _need_ to get better, and Magnussen’s face breaks out into a smile at your words.

 

Then, “Good,” he breathes, before he continues, “Then, to thank you for putting your trust in me like that, I'm going to be completely honest with you about your progress and the choices that you’re making in your life because I think you need that F/N, may I call you F/N?” and you let out a bit of a watery gurgle as you nod. But even though you’re sad and drained from going over everything again you feel grateful in that moment too about him pledging his honesty to you, because he’s right, you do need it. Then, “That honesty starts from now,” he says, “So, saying that I need to make you aware that this is going to take time, and that you’re probably never going to suddenly wake up one morning with all your problems behind you,” and you swallow and nod now, your face becoming more serious as you do so. _“But,”_ he goes on, raising his finger as he does so, “My aim is to get you through both all the good and bad days until you get to a more stable position where your nightmares are less frequent to the point of being non-existent, where you can carry on with your life largely uninterrupted because of what’s happened to you, and where you’re feeling a lot happier in yourself. Does that sound good?” and you nod now, again letting out a bit of a gurgle as you do so because that sounds so good, and better than you can ever imagine. 

 

And Magnussen can clearly see that you’re thinking such a thing for he nods, pats at his knees and leans back. Then, “Good,” he says as he looks at you consideringly, before he swallows. And then, “Right, now I don’t want to do much more with you today because you've done enough, but I would like to introduce you to one idea that I think you might find useful in getting you to the point that I was just talking about. Okay?” he goes on, and again you nod. So, “With that in mind I’d like you to close your eyes,” Magnussen continues tentatively, and your eyes widen a little before you swallow, because closing your eyes and trusting a complete stranger isn't exactly something that you feel like doing right now. But, “F/N, think about the magnitude of what you've just told me and then trust me,” Magnussen says and you nod slowly, your throat feeling dry as you take a moment to think about the situation again in this new light. Then you release a little breath, before you close your eyes. And, “Good,” Magnussen says, “Now picture this room quite clearly in your mind, can you do that?” and you immediately begin to create a hazy sketch of the room in your head, but this being the first time that you've been there you only get the major details down, the settee, the armchair, the coffee table with its potted plant, the umbrella, which you’d found yourself staring at and focusing on as you spoke about what Moriarty had done to you, the window with its sound of traffic and the small bookshelf. And you suddenly wish that you had Mycroft or Sherlock’s mind and their aptitude for memory. And as you wish such a thing so much you’re so determined to try and get every detail of the room in your mind that you begin to open your eyes, because if this could help then surely the more detail that you can get into your mind the quicker this whole process will be, not to mention the more successful. But as soon as Magnussen sees you opening your eyes he says, “Close them,” and feeling suddenly fearful you do so with a snap. Then, “The detail of the room itself isn't that important, as long as you can see it and have a sense of space and place then that’s all that matters,” he reassures you, no doubt being aware that he’d caused you to feel a little tension with his tone just now, so you nod with your eyes still shut. “Now, have you got it back up in your mind again?” he asks, and you nod. So, “Picture yourself sitting in the same armchair that you are now, feel the fabric of it with your fingers if it helps you,” he tells you. And so, feeling very self-conscious and with a bit of a blush on your face you begin to shift your fingers against the arms of the chair.  
Then, “Good,” Magnussen says. 

 

But when you feel like you've been doing it for an age you get out, “I-I”- and stop moving. 

 

Yet, “There’s no room for embarrassment, not if you want to get better,” Magnussen tells you firmly, overruling your uncertainty, and something about the determination in his tone reminds you of Mycroft and so makes you smile a little. And, “Good,” Magnussen says when he sees such a thing appearing on your face and feels you becoming more relaxed. But then, “Now, instead of picturing me opposite you I want you to picture the settee as being completely empty, that’s very important,” Magnussen says, and then he gives you a bit of a moment, before he asks, “Have you done that?” Then, “Good,” he says once you nod, before, “Now you’re in the room entirely on your own,” he goes on, and you tense up a little at the thought. “But you’re not afraid, you’re quite comfortable in fact and it shows in the relaxed way that you’re sitting. You’re just waiting for me to join you for our last session because you've come so far and done so well that you don’t need me any more”- and you smile at that, of being able to come into this room for the last time and walk out of there feeling free and in control and being able to carry on with the rest of your life-“Ha, that’s a good feeling isn't it?” he hums, before he continues softly, “Then the door slowly slides open and you turn your head, expecting it to be me. But it isn't me. It’s Moriarty”- and your body jerks a little at that, your shoulders going tense and your breath catching tight in your chest. “He approaches you, what do you do?” Magnussen asks. 

 

So, “I-I push myself as far back as I can go in the armchair, I want to escape but”- you begin. 

 

“There _is_ no escape,” Magnussen growls out, before he says in a far evener tone, “For he still comes silently towards you, steady in his approach”- 

 

Yet, “Why are you doing this to me?” you blurt out suddenly, opening your eyes and jumping to your feet, whilst tears stream down your face once more. 

 

But instead of replying Magnussen just stares at you and raises his eyebrows, as if you've hurt him by reacting in such a way, and as you begin to calm down, your breaths coming out in pants as you do so you sit down once more, beginning to feel a little embarrassed by your outburst. For however crazy you think Magnussen’s methods might be right now you’re sure that when it comes down to it he’s just doing his job. 

 

So, “Sorry,” you tell him sincerely, fidgeting with the fabric of your jeans now. But then as you look up at him again you feel compelled to ask, “I just-how is bringing Moriarty into this room in my mind meant to help me?” and Magnussen just studies you for a moment. 

 

Then, “You brought him in here yourself,” he tells you, and you swallow, before you listen when he goes on, “Not only when you told me what you did but from the very moment that you walked in I could tell that you were carrying something with you. I didn't know it until just now, but it turns out it was him,” and you open your mouth a little. “But one day, the day that we’re both going to work towards together, when you picture yourself in this room, you won’t try to run or freeze up in the confines of that armchair when Moriarty walks in. Instead you’ll be able to get up out of the chair, confront him if you wish, and then walk out, turning to lock and trap him inside it forever, before you walk away a free woman,” Magnussen explains, and slowly, as you come to understand more about where he’s going with this, you nod. Then, “That concludes our session for today,” he says, “But I’d like you, if you could, to try and picture yourself in this room during random times of the day and see how you find yourself reacting when Moriarty walks in for your homework. Then we can discuss the different scenarios that you've found yourself exploring at the same time next week,” Magnussen says, and again you nod. 

 

Then you slowly get to your feet, and your insides feel a little shaky from having gone through everything again and from knowing about all the hard work that you've got in front of you, but you feel a sense of determination within you all the same. And so you thank Magnussen for his time and make your way more confidently out of the room than you’d done when entering it. Then you make yourself another appointment for the same time next week, before you head back to university. 

 

* 

 

Mycroft’s feeling even more unsettled when he gets back to the house late that afternoon, and he curses himself for having a lecture at four o’ clock, which had meant that he couldn't have gotten back to the house any sooner than gone five. 

 

Whilst as soon as he steps through the door silence greets him, and he shrugs off his coat and hangs it up, before he goes to dump his bag in his room. On his way to do so he spots Molly who’s busy in the kitchen preparing the night’s dinner. Gregory and Sherlock must be out still, he thinks. And Molly informs him with a bit of a sad half-smile that whilst she hasn't seen you, you’re upstairs. So he goes to the bottom of said stairs and peers up them. He can’t hear anything, but just because you’re not yelling or sobbing doesn't mean that you’re not crying or upset and he moves to instinctively take a step upstairs now. But then he hesitates. For you’d implied that he should give you space and he’s not sure how you’d react or what you’d think of him if he were to interrupt you now. But at the same time, the fact is, is that he’s had to put up with not knowing anything about what you’d been going through today, and, whether it makes you angry with him or not, he’s just not sure if he can put up with such a thing any longer. Not now that he’s back and you’re so close to him. So he scurries upstairs quickly before he can either change his mind or his brother can come back and mock him. Then he approaches your bedroom door, before he stands just outside of it, listening. 

 

And again at first he’s greeted by silence. But then, when he presses his ear closer to the door he’s sure that he can hear a snuffling sort of noise, as if you might be trying to stop yourself from crying, even though you’re in the privacy of your bedroom. And the thought of you doing such a thing and struggling to re-gain control of yourself makes Mycroft’s heart ache, whilst it makes his hand slide more certainly towards the doorknob. But again he’s not sure when it comes down to it if going in is the best thing right now. For he knows for one thing that if Gregory and Sherlock were here then they’d both accuse him of over reacting. And for another he feels hesitant to do anything that might make things between you and him worse, and it’s that last point in particular that makes him let out a soft breath, before he begins to turn completely away from both you and your door. 

 

But, _“Mycroft?”_ he hears you say in a voice that’s filled with both need and curiosity just a moment later, so he turns back to the door at once, holding his breath as he does so. Then, “Is that you, Mycroft?” you ask, and when he hears a slight creak he imagines you getting off the bed and perhaps wiping your face as you do so. 

 

So, “Yes, it’s me,” he breathes, for the time for him to leave you is past now. Then, “F/N, how are you? How was it?” he asks, and the words spill out of his mouth, before he can stop them. But he cringes and curses himself inwardly as soon as they do, for he knows that he’s just risked making you angry with him again. 

 

Yet, “I don’t mind you asking,” comes your slightly reassuring voice just a moment later, as if you've read his mind, and it sounds like you’re just behind the door now so he shifts closer to it, pressing the side of his head against it and wishing that you’d open it so that he could look at and perhaps hug you. Then there’s a slight hesitation, and he can’t know that you’re swallowing for strength, before you get out, “I-It was tough, _really_ tough”- and the shakiness of your voice and the way you break off, not to mention the tears that he can hear in your voice, makes something in Mycroft lurch forwards unpleasantly, whilst his heart only aches even more. And instinctively he presses his body against the door even more then, making it shudder in his desperateness and desire to get to you, which in turn makes him blush and curse himself inwardly again. But then he hears a watery giggle leave your lips at him doing such a thing, and whilst it makes him momentarily feel stupider, part of him can’t help but feel glad in spite of himself that he’d inadvertently made you laugh. Then in the next moment he hears you say in a considering, thoughtful fashion, “But I think-I think too that it really might be the best thing for me, so I wanted to thank you.” And then the door’s opening so he hurriedly pulls back from it. 

 

You’re revealed to him just a moment later, and as soon as he sees your slightly red face and the way that you’re trying to smile at him despite the way that tears still cling to your cheeks and waver in your eyes, it makes him get out, _“F/N…”_

 

So, _“Mycroft,”_ you breathe out, smiling a bit more in spite of yourself at his worried, earnest face, whilst you try to wipe away your tears once more with the backs of your hands. 

 

Then he opens his arms to you instinctively in the next moment and you let out a mix between a giggle and a sob as you fling yourself against him. 

 

He lets out a bit of a breath at the force of you. Then he delicately wraps his arms around you, before he tightens his grip on you ever so slightly when you increase your own grip on him, whilst you press the side of your face roughly against his chest and let out a contented sound. And he can’t know that for the first time that day you’re feeling perfectly safe. But he _does_ know how it makes him feel, and that’s happy to have you so close to him and to finally know that despite it being a difficult day for you, you’d managed to come through it nonetheless. So he tucks his head down against yours and rests his chin on top of your hair. And you make another sound of satisfaction at that and it gets all his nerve endings tingling. Then, because he wants so desperately in that moment to kiss you, but he knows that he can’t, he settles for encouraging you instead when he says, “I'm so proud of you.” 

 

And you smile instantly at that. But then, when you automatically start to feel embarrassed and like you don’t really deserve his praise, you draw your head back from him and say, “I haven’t done anything yet.” 

 

Yet, “Yes you have, you've been there and you've made the first step, and I couldn't be any prouder of you,” Mycroft says insistently, and then he lets go of you and gets down on his knees, before, as his hands come to press lightly against your waist and he peers up at you he asks, “Do you know what you did today?” Then, as you shake your head, he breathes out fervently, “You didn't let Moriarty win,” which makes the brightest smile appear on your face. But then, once more, you start to feel a little embarrassed, not only by how much he’s trying to encourage you, but also at the way that he’s looking at you with so much love and pride, so your body begins to sway from side to side a little. And Mycroft smiles at you doing such a thing, before he stands up again. Then, “Dinner’s probably going to be ready soon, so we should probably get you cleaned up a bit,” he informs you, whilst he hopes that this time you’ll let him help tidy you up at the very least, unlike when you hadn't let him do so in the summer. 

 

Yet for a moment he thinks that you’re not going to let him again, for you just duck your head consideringly. But then, in the next moment, you pull out the handkerchief that he gave you all that time ago from the pocket of your jeans, before you smile a little as you look back up at him. 

 

And he smiles at the fact that you've been carrying it about with you just as he wanted you to. Then, “Let me,” he murmurs, before he feels a little tentative as he once more hopes that you’ll let him do this one thing for you. 

 

And he feels a little relieved therefore when you slowly pass the handkerchief to him wordlessly. 

 

Then he rearranges the handkerchief in his own hand, before he slowly looks up at you again. And his breath hitches in his chest as your eyes meet and he can feel yours doing the same. Then he swallows and tugs his eyes-before they get lost in the depth of yours-to your chin instead. And then, both slowly and carefully, he tilts your chin up with a couple of his fingers, before he makes to dab just underneath your eyes with it. But after a couple of times of doing this he feels you swallowing, so his eyes flick up to yours again. And then he swallows himself when he comes to see that your eyes are resting upon his lips, before his movements on your face still. So you look up just a moment later, and then you both swallow again when your eyes come to meet each other’s once more. Then, instinctively, Mycroft starts to lower the handkerchief from your face even though alarm bells begin to ring in the back of his head, reminding him that you’re just meant to be friends, reminding him of so many sensible things, but he just pushes them away. Then you angle your head towards his, whilst both of your lips part instinctively, and both of your eyes are on the verge of fluttering shut when-

 

“Dinner!” comes Molly’s shrill voice from the bottom of the stairs, and the two of you pull back from each other hurriedly, your heart racing, whilst Mycroft looks annoyed with himself. 

 

Then, “We better”- he begins. 

 

So, “Yes,” you agree, before a little breath escapes your lips when he shoves the handkerchief back to you and then makes to hurry downstairs without another word, and you bite at your lip as you look after him. For, for a moment you’d felt sure just then that he’d been annoyed about the fact that Molly had interrupted you both, before you’d been able to kiss, and such a thing had made something flutter inside you, but after his reaction just now you no longer feel sure of such a thing…and your heart gives a bit of an uncertain flop inside you before you too make to go downstairs. 

 

*

 

At dinner Mycroft can’t help but feel even more annoyed with himself the more that he thinks about what he’d nearly let happen. For he’d explicitly agreed that you’d just be friends for now, and even though he’d seen you looking at his lips that hadn't been an excuse for him to just go along with it. That hadn't been an excuse for him to just break the important agreement that you’d made together. For you’d been feeling vulnerable and no doubt weary after all you’d been through that day so it hadn't been any wonder in one sense that you’d been seeking a more physical form of comfort. Yet it should have been his job to limit that and pull away. His job to be the sensible and responsible one when you were feeling unable to be such a thing. And thank God Molly had called when she had he thinks, though as he half-looks enquiringly at you he can’t help but worry that he may have just made things more complicated between you anyway, when you quickly make an effort to smile at him around your mouthful of food. So he just gives you a tight smile in return, before he looks away from you. 

 

As he does so though your heart can’t help but sink. Whilst you feel suddenly sure that Mycroft’s regretting the nice moments that you’d had upstairs with each other just now, and you can’t help but feel a little deflated because of such a thing.

 

So you can’t help but feel rather grateful in the next moment when Molly interrupts your thoughts by saying, “Now that we’re all in relationships I was thinking that”-

 

But, “As you well know Molly, F/N and I are no longer together,” Mycroft says stiffly, clearing his throat a little and shifting his hold on his cutlery, whilst he stares down rather fixedly at his plate. 

 

And your face can’t help but fall despite the truth of what he’s saying. 

 

Yet, “I was rather hoping that, that was just a temporary measure,” Molly says in a light but despairing tone, and whilst you look at her gratefully Mycroft frowns. 

 

Indeed, “Yes, but whilst we’re not, I’d appreciate it if you didn't act like we are or like we definitely will be in the future. I don’t want there to be any confusion”- Mycroft begins. 

 

But Greg must see something in your face wavering, for in the next moment he says, _“Mycroft”-_ warningly. 

 

Yet as you hurriedly make to get up, for you can feel the prick of tears in your eyes and you know that you won’t be able to stem them, you hear Sherlock saying sardonically, “Oh, I wouldn't worry yourself Gethin, my brother seems to be making it a personal mission of his to upset F/N as much as he possibly can.”

 

And then a moment later as you hurry to leave the room you hear Mycroft calling, _“F/N,”_ desperately after you, but you don’t stop and you don’t look back, you just hasten away. 

 

“Oh, I wish you hadn't said that Mycroft,” Molly says, as she looks at him despairingly a moment later. 

 

But, “Well I wish _you_ hadn't said what you did,” Mycroft tells her, before he says with some frustration in his tone, “It confuses her”- 

 

Yet, “What I said gives her hope, and if anyone confused her just now it’s probably you, acting like you don’t want to be with her when you do,” Molly shoots back in a harried voice. 

 

So, “I never said”- Mycroft begins, before he breaks off when it suddenly dawns on him that Molly’s implying that though he hadn't said such a thing that’s what he’d made you feel. And he looks at Sherlock for support. But Sherlock just looks as baffled as he does by the thought that you could have interpreted his words to mean such a thing, and he gives him an obstinate kind of shrug when he meets his gaze. Then he looks at Gregory who’s staring at him steadily, and Mycroft gets the feeling that although Gregory might not understand all the thought processes that are going on behind Molly’s words he agrees with her. So he swallows, before he looks back to Molly. Then, “I do want to be with her, I never meant”- he begins again, before he breaks off as he looks towards the door in a desperate kind of fashion. Yet when he hears Sherlock let out an, ‘Oh God,’ of slight disgust and despair just a moment later he swings his head angrily back at him, before he snaps, “And why aren't you at John’s? Haven’t had a lovers tiff have you?” without being able to help it, because he could really do with Sherlock’s support and him not being childish right now. 

 

But, _“Mycroft,”_ Greg says wearily as he tries to stop the brothers from getting into a fight with each other right. 

 

Yet, “Well I wouldn't be the only one if I had would I?” Sherlock retorts, despite the fact that he’d never had such an argument with John. 

 

And, “I have told you, told _all_ of you in fact, that F/N and I are”- Mycroft begins automatically. 

 

But, “Oh for God’s sake Mycroft!” Molly cuts him loudly, not being able to cope with what she views as his blatant stupidity a moment longer, and all three men, but especially Mycroft, look at her in astonishment. Then, “We know, we _all_ know that F/N and you aren't together any more, but if you’d stop being so defensive and in your head about it then maybe you’d come to realize that _all_ of us, yes even your brother, just want F/N and you to be together and happy again,” and she pauses to swallow. But Mycroft is sure that she’s not finished so he doesn't dare speak. And sure enough she goes on, “And if you hadn't interrupted me in the first place you’d know by now that all I was trying to do was to be nice by suggesting that we all do something fun together every Friday night from now on, to not only give F/N something to look forward to after her Thursday appointments but to just give us all a proper chance to spend time together as a group. I was going to suggest that we all go bowling together tomorrow night”-

 

“Well I think that’s a good idea,” Greg interrupts her encouragingly when he senses that it’s now safe to do so, and Mycroft shoots him a bit of a dark look as if to tell him to stop being so obvious. But Greg’s too busy exchanging a smile with Molly to notice. And then, “What do you think Sherlock?” Greg asks. 

 

And Sherlock takes a moment to look at both Greg and Molly now. Then, “Can John come?” he asks, and Mycroft rolls his eyes impatiently. 

 

But, “Of course he can,” Molly says, showing more patience with him than Mycroft currently has as she turns her head to smile at him, and Sherlock, looking suitably satisfied now, makes to carry on with his dinner. Then Molly looks back at Mycroft with a frown, before she adds, “That’s what I was trying to illustrate earlier, before I was interrupted.” 

 

But Mycroft’s not going to be silent for any longer and, “Even if things were different and F/N and I _were_ together, I don’t think it would be wise, not so soon after her sessions, for her to be”- yet Molly sighs again then and cuts him off. 

 

Then, “You know what I think Mycroft? I think you need to stop treating F/N like she’s made of china and I think you need to go upstairs and talk to her and let her decide for herself about what she wants to do tomorrow night. But most of all, most of all I think you need to stop beating yourself up every time you find yourself feeling more than just friendly feelings towards her. I've seen how you've been struggling with such things ever since we all got back here. I've seen the way that you look at her at dinner sometimes, and the way that you hurriedly look away and frown as soon as you properly realize what you’re doing”-and Sherlock pulls a bit of a face now-“And although you’re trying to just be friends and it’s sensible and honourable and the right thing to do for now, I know, we _all_ know in fact, that you both feel more than that for each other, and so I don’t see why there’s any need for you to pretend otherwise”- Molly goes on. 

 

But, “It confuses”- Mycroft begins. 

 

Yet, “It _doesn't_ confuse her,” Molly huffs out now, before she goes on, “If anything I think it confuses you more, because you want to keep everything neat and separate in your head, but life’s not like that, it’s complicated and messy and”- 

 

“I know life’s not like that,” Mycroft snaps, before he huffs out, “Especially after everything that’s happened to F/N,” which makes everyone shut up and hurriedly swallow. Then he huffs out a bit of another breath, before he announces, “I think I’ll go and see F/N now,” and then he pushes his half-eaten dinner aside and heads towards the stairs. 

 

But as he leaves the room Molly can’t help but look at Greg worriedly. Then she asks, “You don’t think I was being too hard on him do you?” 

 

And Greg says, “No,” at the same time that Sherlock gets out, “ _God_ no,” which makes Molly smile a bit, before she looks back down at her dinner. 

 

* 

 

Mycroft meanwhile, still making his way towards the stairs, stops dead as soon as he turns the corner, whilst a little sharp breath escapes him. For you’re sitting halfway up them with your arms crossed and a serious expression on your face as you raise your head to look at him. Then, before he can say a word you stand up in one big sweeping motion and tell him tersely, “I think Molly’s right. I don’t think we should pretend that we don’t have any greater feelings than friendship for each other, _and_ , for the record, I think it’s a good idea to do things as a group together on Friday nights too. Molly’s right, it’ll give me something to look forward to,” and then, without another word and without even giving him a chance to reply, you fold your arms, turn around and begin to march upstairs to your room. 

 

But, _“F/N?”_ Mycroft says, before he stumbles forwards instinctively. Yet he lets out a soft curse just a moment later when the bottom of his leg catches against the bottom of the stairs, and almost causes him to topple forwards. 

 

Then he hurries upstairs after you, before he slows down a little when he sees that your door is shut once more. So, _“F/N?”_ he tries once he comes to a stop outside it, with his arm half-raised uncertainly. 

 

But, “I've told you all I want to for tonight Mycroft,” comes your voice, and he thinks that you must be on your bed with your back turned to him now because your voice is muffled and it doesn't sound close. 

 

And his shoulders slump a little at your words. But then, as a sudden wave of determination creeps over him, they resume their normal position, before his fingers splay against the door as he calls, “F/N, I thought we had an agreement, I thought we said that we’d just be friends for now, whilst we got ourselves sorted”- and he breaks off, for he hears a creak coming from inside of your room as if you've turned around and you’re sitting up now. Then, feeling spurred on by the fact that he knows he’s got your attention, he goes on, “So what on earth was the point in making such an agreement if we just break it and carry on as we were before?” 

 

“But I thought that by saying as part of the agreement that we’d just be friends for now, that we were promising that we _would_ be going out again with each other at some point in the future, I thought that was like the whole point in fact. So, like Molly said I don’t see why we have to pretend otherwise,” you protest, and your voice sounds strained now. 

 

And, “Yes that is my intention, and I'm sorry if I made you think it wasn't earlier, but until that point I thought, and I’d thought that you were of the same opinion too, that it would be better if we only acted as friends do, so as to not confuse the issue,” Mycroft tries to explain, but then when you don’t say anything he asks, “Wouldn't that be easier for you? For the both of us?” in an attempt to get you to say something. 

 

Yet when you say, “I just want you to give me hope without you taking it away straight after you do so,” it comes out so soft and quiet that Mycroft doesn't hear it properly. 

 

And, _“Hmm?”_ he questions as he presses his ear more intently to the door. 

 

But you feel drained from not only what you've been through that day but from trying to explain yourself to him. So, instead of repeating yourself you simply say, “I think I'm going to go to bed now, I'm tired,” in an even tone. 

 

And, _“Oh,”_ Mycroft says, and he feels immediately disappointed, whilst his shoulders slump once more, and though part of him wants to persist in his attempts to straighten things out with you and to make sure that you’re both on the same page a larger part of him knows that he’s not going to get any further with you tonight. So, “Night,” is all he says softly. 

 

And, “Night,” comes your distracted sounding reply a moment later, and Mycroft can’t know that you’re already closing your eyes and forcing yourself to at least try and work on what Magnussen told you, even though being trapped in a room with Moriarty is the very last place that you feel like going to right now, even if it is in just your mind, and so he gives the door one last resigned look, before he pads back downstairs. 

 

Greg’s waiting for him in the kitchen, and Mycroft lets out a bit of a soft sigh, before he settles down at the table opposite him. 

 

Then, “I take it that things didn't go well with F/N?” Greg asks. 

 

So Mycroft gives him a bit of a look, before he lets out yet another sigh. Then he shakes his head once and says, “I just don’t want there to be an issue further down the line if we start, well”-

 

“Kissing again?” Greg suggests when Mycroft breaks off rather awkwardly. 

 

And, “Well, yes,” Mycroft concurs as he runs a bit of a flustered hand through his hair. Then, “And I tried to, well, explain that to her, because there’s no point in us having made that agreement in the first place if we simply just ignore it every other day, but she”- and he breaks off now, before he goes on with a bit of a resigned shrug, “She agrees with Molly.”

 

And Greg shifts his position a little uncomfortably now, before he swallows. Then, “Look Mycroft,” he says, “I'm not going to pretend that I don’t agree with Molly either,” and then when Mycroft opens his mouth to protest he quickly goes on, “But I think you have a fair point too.” And he pauses for a moment. Then, “That being said though,” he goes on, “I think we can both agree that we don’t want another situation like the one that happened at dinner, do we?” and Mycroft shakes his head. “So,” Greg continues, “With that being said, if you like I could help get you on another track if I think you’re going wrong with F/N, and similarly encourage you when I think you’re going right. How does that sound?” 

 

And Mycroft turns and looks away for a moment as he comments a little ruefully, “Well, I think you’d probably be a lot more useful to me than my brother,” without being able to help it, before he looks back at Greg. Then, as his face softens a little more, he says, “Thank you Gregory.”

 

So, “No problem,” Greg smiles, whilst he feels relieved that something seems to have at last gone right. 

 

*

 

You come out of the nightmare with a start, your body jerking up into a sitting position, your sheet tangled around your legs and your heart racing, whilst sweat glistens on your forehead. 

 

Then you curse out loud as you try and fail to shift the sheet from your legs with your trembling fingers, whilst your mind wonders automatically where the hell your duvet is. 

 

The nightmare had been worse just then. More potent and real than ever, with Moriarty raping you, whilst you lied on the floor of Dr. Magnussen’s room. For some reason two cuckoo clocks had been placed either side of your head, and the ticking sound of them so close to your ears had just made you grow even more frantic. And you’d wriggled and pushed against Moriarty and gasped out in your struggle to get away. But then he’d just laughed a cruel, soft laugh that had made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and the whole of your skin prickle, before he’d carried on thrusting into you. His hands had pinned down your arms as he’d done so, and caused tears to prick at your eyes as his nails had dug into your old bruises. So you’d yelled. Yelled first for Mycroft and then for Dr. Magnussen, seeing as it had been his room that you’d been in after all. But neither of them had come to help you. Nobody had. So you’d screamed at Moriarty instead, but he’d just laughed over your breathless pleas until finally you’d grown so hoarse that you’d just had to succumb. 

 

In the present you finally get the sheet off you, before you scramble clumsily out of bed. Then you nearly go hurtling to the floor because for some reason your duvet is down there, and it occurs to you now that you must have kicked it off your bed when you’d been sleeping. 

 

Still, for now you leave it there and go downstairs instinctively instead, wearing nothing but your baggy pyjamas. 

 

And it’s not until you come to be standing outside the door to Mycroft’s room that you come to a stop. Not until then that just as you’re moving your hand to push the door open, that it occurs to you that after what happened earlier Mycroft might not be that welcoming to you. And suddenly, as the adrenalin and fear you feel from the nightmare begin to get taken over by the night’s true and actual events, you’re not sure if you want to go and wake him up either. So you lower your hand again. 

 

But, “He’d want you to tell him,” comes an even voice, and you let out a bit of a gasp, before you whirl around. Sherlock’s standing, or leaning rather, by the entranceway, and as he steps forwards and begins to approach you he continues, “If you've had another nightmare, and that’s the only reason I assume that you’d be wandering about so openly in your pyjamas, which have little pictures of deer on”-and you blush now-“Then my brother would want to know, no matter what might have happened between you earlier.”

 

Yet, instead of replying, you just fold your arms over your chest, before you cross over to the table in silence. Then you draw a chair back, before you sit down upon it. 

 

Sherlock takes the opportunity, whilst you’re doing all that to go over to the sink and fill two glasses with water. Then he joins you and puts your glass down in front of you. And you thank him, before you watch as he takes a seat opposite you. 

 

Then, “What are you doing here Sherlock?” you ask. 

 

And Sherlock smiles at that. But then when you just look at him questioningly he explains, “You sounded like my brother,” and the corner of your lip twitches upward in spite of yourself, before you quickly duck your head down to try and quell it. Then, once your face has grown more serious again, you look back up at him. So Sherlock goes on, “I heard you having a nightmare, and then when I heard you come down I decided to come and make sure that you were all right”-

 

But, “If you heard me having a nightmare then why didn't you go and wake your brother like you usually do?” you ask. 

 

And Sherlock hesitates a moment, because despite the fact that he knows the answer it’s a difficult one for him to put into words. Then he finally replies, “I guess that’s something we both have in common,” and when you raise your eyebrows at him he goes on, “We both, in spite of how annoying and frustrating he can be sometimes, don’t want to hurt Mycroft,” and you exchange a small and somewhat sad smile with each other now. Then Sherlock chooses to quickly add, “Never tell him I told you that.”

 

So, “I won’t,” you say with a bit of a smile, before you take a few sips of your drink. Then, as your face grows more serious as you come to think about what had happened earlier you shift your position uncomfortably. 

 

“It was worse tonight wasn't it?” Sherlock asks, no doubt believing that you’re thinking about your nightmare now. 

 

So, “Yes,” you concur, before you get to the real heart of the problem when you say, “But what happened at dinner didn't exactly help either.”

 

And Sherlock looks at you consideringly for a moment, before he takes a drink of his water. Then, “You must know that he cares for you,” he says, whilst he lowers his glass to the table, before he asks, “He must have at least tried to communicate that to you when he followed you upstairs tonight?” 

 

So you nod, feeling that odd feeling where you’re caught in between laughing and crying like you’d felt earlier. Then, “Yes he did,” you confirm, before you run your hand back through your hair as you start to feel more frustrated with the situation. And then, feeling like you need to try to explain to someone, even if it isn't to the right person right now you add, “I know he cares for me, and I know he loves me, but I-I just feel like I need something different from just those things right now. If we’re just going to be friends then I need him to, at the very least, give me hope that we can be something more than that in the future or I feel like one of my reasons for getting better is just gone, and I’ll lose some of my motivation because of it. Does that sound stupid to you?” you ask. 

 

And once more Sherlock just looks at you consideringly. Then, “As much as the thought of my brother in a relationship repels me no, what you've just said doesn't sound stupid to me,” he gets out, and you begin to smile a little, already feeling a little lighter about having successfully explained some of your feelings to someone. 

 

But then, before you can reply you hear the sound of a door opening, and then a voice says, “And it doesn't sound stupid to me either,” and your head swings automatically towards its direction, before you let out a breath when you see Mycroft standing there, one of his hands keeping his bedroom door open and the other down by his side, whilst he stands there with a maroon coloured dressing gown over his vest and boxer shorts as he stares at you. Then, “I just wish you’d found the strength inside yourself to tell me that earlier,” he continues, and there’s something heavy in his tone now. 

 

So, “I’ll leave you to it,” Sherlock murmurs, before he gets up and scarpers out of the room, nodding quickly to Mycroft on his way out. 

 

Then Mycroft takes the seat that his brother had just vacated, before he draws Sherlock’s glass of water towards him and takes a brief sip of it. Then he heaves out a sigh as he looks at you, before he comments, “I just can’t understand you sometimes F/N. You can talk to Molly about things and now my brother, so why on earth can’t you talk to me about them? Am I doing something wrong? What do they posses that I do not? Please tell me,” and it’s then that you can tell that although he’d been trying to keep his voice as even as possible that you've disappointed him just as much as he’s disappointed you that night, and you huff out a frustrated breath because of it. 

 

Then, “Of course they don’t posses anything that you don’t,” you tell him with some exasperation in your tone. 

 

But, “Well they must,” Mycroft begins, “Because you can talk to them but not to me, and I know that you’re working on it now and I'm not trying to take any progress that you've made today away from you, but if you can talk to them a little about how you feel then surely you can talk to me more than you’re doing at the moment, even if it’s just a little bit”-

 

Yet his words, even though they’d been spoken with a desperate sort of gentleness sound accusing to you, and you can’t help but snap, “So would you rather that I just didn't speak to anyone at all? That I just bottled it up and kept it all in”-

 

“No, of course not,” Mycroft says, before he gets out, “F/N, _please_ ,” when you stand up and he can tell that you’re seconds away from leaving him. 

 

But, “No Mycroft I'm sorry, but I'm tired and I'm not going to get into another argument about all of this with you, I'm just not. You've said what you think and I've said what I do, so I'm just going to go back to bed now.”

 

Yet as you turn your back on him and begin to walk away Mycroft can’t help but mutter resentfully, “You weren't too tired to talk to my brother just now.”

 

And you stop and stiffen up at once. But though tears spring to your eyes and your fists clench you don’t turn around. You just swallow and take a deep breath, before you walk until you get to your room. Then you throw your duvet angrily back on your bed, before you fall upon it and begin to cry. For why can’t Mycroft understand? Why can’t he understand that you aren't deliberately trying to shut him out? Understand that Sherlock had simply just been in the right place at the right time tonight? Understand that Molly, as your only female friend, is someone you've found yourself naturally able to confide in ever since the pair of you made up? Why can’t he understand something as simple and as straightforward as that without you having to try and explain everything to him? Why can’t he be the fairy tale Prince that you want him to be? And more to the point why does the fairy tale story have to continue anyway when you've found your Prince and when you should be having a happy ever after? Why does everything in your life have to be so complicated all the time? And you feel so frustrated with the whole thing that you just end up crying yourself to sleep. 

 

*

 

Things are awkward between Mycroft and you at breakfast. You still feel sad and frustrated about it all and Mycroft broods over his toast, looking troubled. 

 

And things aren't that much better between you that evening when you all troop out to catch the bus so that you can all go bowling together. 

 

Sherlock meanwhile, seeing such a thing, rolls his eyes at the pair of you, before he takes the lead on the pavement with John trotting after him. And Molly and Greg assume their position in the middle, which leaves Mycroft and you to bring up the rear. 

 

Mycroft shoves his hands in his pockets and you do the same, but feeling uncomfortable you fold your arms across your chest instead just a moment later. And though you look at each other now and again, only when the other’s not looking mind, the both of you remain silent. 

 

Molly and Greg, clearly growing concerned about the prominent silence that’s following them, look around in the next moment. 

 

Then, when Greg spots the awkward half-smile that graces Mycroft’s face and the nervous little half-wave that you give him he huffs out a bit of a breath and says, “Look, I know that things were a little awkward between you two last night but we’re supposed to be having fun, so if you could manage to at least look at each other then that would at least be a bit better than what you’re doing now…” before he trails off pointedly. 

 

And both Mycroft and you let out a little sheepish, knowing breath at that, before you quickly look at each other. 

 

And, seemingly satisfied at that, Greg and Molly turn back around and begin to walk again. 

 

Then, “I'm sorry F/N,” Mycroft says as you both begin to walk again too. 

 

But you feel just as responsible, if not more so, for the awkward tension that’s been brewing between you both all day. So, “Me too,” you tell him both quickly and sincerely as your eyes flick up to him briefly. 

 

Then you give each other a small smile, before you look away from each other again. But things are different between you now. You can feel it even in the silence as you walk alongside each other. The energy is less tense and strained and more hopeful and willing, and both of you feel a little happier because of it. 

 

Because of the little delay when Greg stopped to speak to you both though Sherlock and John get to the bus stop quite a little bit before you, and when the four of you finally arrive, just as Sherlock’s getting on the bus he turns back and calls, “Thought you were going to miss the bus, brother,” and Mycroft gives him a bit of a shrug, whilst an irritated frown momentarily flashes over his face. 

 

The bus is busy, and though Sherlock and John manage to snag a seat for themselves there’s only one other double seat to spare, so Mycroft and Greg give it to Molly and you, leaving them to grab onto the poles that are nearby. 

 

The bus pulls off with a jerk, and as it does so Mycroft’s leg knocks against you slightly, which makes you both swallow and him hurriedly apologize, before he adjusts his position again. Then, as the bus continues its journey it gets more and more tightly packed with several people now standing close together in the aisle, and it gets to the point where Mycroft has to half-lean over you just to avoid everyone else. 

 

So, “Sorry,” he murmurs, because he can tell from the way that your hands are slightly fidgeting together and the way that there’s a rather fixed smile on your face that you’re feeling awkward. 

 

But, “It’s okay,” you reply softly as you half-tilt your head up towards him but don’t look at him. 

 

Then, once again, you both swallow. 

 

It’s a relief therefore, with how awkward things have become between you again, to finally get off the bus, even if Sherlock and John jostle the pair of you as they hurriedly push past you, which causes your hand to go flying up until it catches against Mycroft’s chest, before you quickly draw it away and pull back from him in the next moment as if touching him unexpectedly had been enough to burn you. Then it’s your turn to apologize and his turn to tell you that it’s okay, before you both follow the others inside. But as you do so you can’t help but bite at your lip a little as your eyes take in the way that Sherlock’s dragging John insistently forwards by the hand and the way that Molly and Greg are walking close together, Molly’s head tilting towards Greg’s shoulder and Greg with his arm around her. And you can’t know that Mycroft’s taking in all these things too and starting to feel all the more awkward because of them. 

 

Then as you commandeer one bowling lane between the six of you, you begin to notice the presence of other couples too, couples hand-holding, helping each other bowl or just chatting excitedly together as they sit by one of the tables that are a little in front of the bowling lanes, leaning close together as they do so. The tables are slightly higher up than everything else and are separated from the bowling lanes by a wooden barrier, which runs into a wall, and there are a couple of other tables in little nooks that are closer to the bowling lanes and on the other side of the wall to the other tables. And it’s one of these little nooks that the majority of you end up clustering around a table in, whilst Sherlock takes control and begins to fill in everyone’s details. 

 

You’ll be playing in teams-Molly and Greg, Sherlock and John, and of course Mycroft and you. Something which makes you feel even more fidgety because of course the two of you are the odd ones out.

 

And, as things begin to get under way with Molly and Greg going to get the drinks in and Sherlock giving out what looks like unwanted advice to John who has boldly agreed to start off the game, you find yourself focusing on and noticing the interaction between the two couples even more. Find yourself focusing on the fact that although John looks exasperated by Sherlock there’s definitely a fondness in the way that he looks at his boyfriend too. Whilst Greg and Molly return carrying everyone’s drinks looking so at ease with each other. And as you notice such things you wish that you could have that kind of relationship with Mycroft and that things didn't have to be so complicated between you. Whilst as you move up a little so that Greg and Molly can sit down and your leg comes to brush against Mycroft’s even more you only feel such a thing more persistently, and how you’d love it if he could give you some hope of such a thing happening in the future right at that moment, or that at the very least you could have a nice moment with each other right now. And, hoping that if you look at him then such a thing might inadvertently happen, you do so. But Mycroft had felt a jolt of something when he’d felt your leg against his just then, and he feels awkward as a result of it, so he just gives you a bit of a tight smile and a nod when he senses you looking at him, before he looks away from you again. And your heart sinks, whilst you only feel more uncertain about everything because of such a thing.

 

Mycroft meanwhile only feels even more awkward. For he knows from the expression that you’d given him just then that you want him to do something. He just doesn't know what. And, as he glances at you sneakily every now and again as the game continues in order to try and work out what it might be he can’t help but notice that whenever Gregory jokes around or Sherlock gives unnecessary harsh criticism to anyone who isn't John, although you smile a bit, it never lasts for long. Whilst similarly he notices that by and large you’re quiet compared to everyone else and that you choose to spend more time sipping at your drink rather than joining in. And he can’t help but feel frustrated with himself again, for he feels sure that if he’d been able to act on whatever you’d clearly wanted him to earlier than you wouldn't be so quiet. Can’t help but feel like everything’s his fault…

 

Meanwhile it’s a relief whenever it’s your turn to bowl because you can get away from everyone for a bit, get away from the encouraging smiles that Greg and Molly send you and get away from how guilty you feel when you can only manage a forced one in return. Get away even though it does make your heart sink at the contrast in you going out to bowl on your own compared to that of John who has Sherlock bounding alongside him, or to that of Molly who has Greg holding her in his arms briefly, before he gives her an encouraging grin as he lets go of her so that she can take up her position. And that’s not the only contrast either. For whenever after you bowl, even if you've done so badly, whilst everyone else has an encouraging word for you, even Sherlock albeit in a sarcastic fashion, Mycroft just gives you a bit of a wan smile and sips at his drink rather than saying anything to you. And you can’t know that the only reason that’s all he’s got to offer you is because his mind is still so caught up in what had happened, or _hadn't_ happened earlier. So because you don’t know such a thing the more this happens the more you start to feel as if you've only got yourself to blame. For you start to think that after the way you’d behaved last night you’d no doubt put him off giving further encouragement to you and made him uncertain of how to act. And again your heart can’t help sink because of it. 

 

But still, still you’re so desperate to just have _one_ nice moment with him, even if it really is just the one, that by the time it’s your last turn you find yourself giving him a bit of a tentative and hopeful look, before you swing out of your seat. But he doesn't seem to even pick up on it, for he seems too focused on saying something to Greg to notice that it’s your turn. And you can’t know that it’s just pretence and that as soon as you have your back turned towards him he stops talking and his eyes swivel across to watch you intently. So, because you can’t know this, as soon as you pick up the black bowling ball and tentatively assume your position in the middle of the bowling lane, thinking that he needs another hint you look back towards him, whilst your hand taps restlessly against the ball that you’re cupping in your other palm. Yet Mycroft looks to Greg as soon as you do, and the sight of him doing such a thing makes you swallow, before you turn away from him in a resigned fashion. 

 

But, “Mate, I think she wants you to go over there,” Greg says, and Mycroft’s eyes dart automatically back to you. 

 

Yet you’re not looking at him any more, so, “No, I don’t think”- Mycroft begins. But when he sees Greg’s eyes slide back to you a moment later, before they quickly fix on his again and Greg gives a quick jerk of his head Mycroft looks back at you again. And this time he looks just in enough time to catch your hair flicking about as you turn your head quickly away from him. 

 

So, “Mate she keeps looking across,” Greg says in the next moment out of the corner of his mouth, which gets Mycroft looking at him again. 

 

Yet still Mycroft, even though he knows the truth of Gregory’s words now, is hesitant about going. For what if Gregory’s just got the wrong end of the stick and you don’t want him to join you? But what would be even worse he realizes is if Gregory hasn't got the wrong end of the stick and he _doesn't_ join you. And he bites at his bottom lip and slides a little towards the edge of the seat now. But still, even though his eyes have gone back to you and even though he can quite clearly see that you’re still faltering for some reason and looking at the pins in a troubled fashion he hesitates in making the last move that he has to do, before he can go and join you. 

 

Yet, “Oh for God’s sake will you just go and do what she wants so that John and I can be declared the winners?” Sherlock’s impatient voice comes, interrupting Mycroft’s thoughts. 

 

And, “Not so fast brother dear,” Mycroft replies, his eyes still on you, but his head now tilted towards that of his brother’s, before he slides out of his seat and begins to make his way across to you. 

 

And Greg exchanges a small smile with Molly at this. 

 

You meanwhile have given up on Mycroft joining you right at the very moment that he begins to do so, and so when he sees you beginning to bend down and draw your hand back he almost falters and loses his nerve. But his body acts of its own accord and so he totters forwards in spite of himself. 

 

Then you finally sense someone’s presence by you, and as you straighten up once more you turn your head with a bit of a frown on your face and a furrowed brow. 

 

Yet as soon as you see that it’s Mycroft your face clears, before you get out a little awkward, “Hey,” as you swing your free hand about momentarily, before it comes to help the other one keep the ball steady in your hand. 

 

And back at the table Sherlock lets out an, “Oh God,” in a bit of a despairing fashion without being able to help himself. 

 

But, _“Shh,”_ both Molly and Greg protest at the same time, whilst John nudges his boyfriend in an attempt to keep him quiet, and Sherlock rolls his eyes, before he continues to watch the scene with the others. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile stops so that he’s not right by you, before he nods and swallows. Then he nods again, this time at the bowling ball, which his eyes briefly flit to, before he says rather seriously, “I can help you with your shot if you like,” as his own arms swing back and forth a little. Yet when you don’t reply straight away he adds quickly, “Though if you’d rather”-

 

But, “No,” you get out at once, and Mycroft’s face falls a little, so you inwardly curse yourself, before you hurriedly add, “No, I mean I’d really love it if you could help me.”

 

And, _“Really?”_ Mycroft asks, his face brightening a little as he does so. 

 

So, “Yeah,” you get out, before when you realize just how eager you sound you go on a little more evenly, “Well, I know I haven’t exactly been helping you as much as you've been helping me during this game, but I’d really like it all the same if we could stop your brother from winning, even if it’s only a little bit. He’s been smug the whole game.”

 

And Mycroft wonders whether you’d really just been talking about the game when you’d said about how much he’d helped you in comparison to the amount that you’d helped him. But then when he sees that you’re looking a little nervous, whilst you wait for his answer he says a firm, “I’d like that too,” before he takes a couple of calculating steps towards you. Then, “Now where were you thinking of aiming for?” he asks all business-like, whilst he looks most seriously down the lane, and you just find yourself admiring his side profile for a moment. 

 

And Molly lets out an, _“Aww,”_ as she spots you doing such a thing, which makes Greg smile crookedly and Sherlock pull a bit of a face as he sticks his tongue out. 

 

Meanwhile you hurriedly reply, “Um, just down the middle I think,” when Mycroft looks at you again, before you take one hand of the bowling ball so that you can fiddle with your hair a little. 

 

And Mycroft makes a soft sound of consideration in his throat for a moment, before he says, “Um, now I don’t want to sound like my brother or anything”-

 

But, “You couldn't,” you blurt out without thinking, before you blush a little when Mycroft looks at you more intently. And then you add, “I-I want your advice, no matter what it is,” and again Mycroft wonders if you’re talking about the bowling. 

 

But then he realizes that you’re watching him with a rather awkward expression on your face as you wait for him to respond, so, “In that case I should tell you that you might get a better overall result if you aim either slightly to the right or to the left of the middle pin.”

 

And you don’t reply to that. Instead you just turn your head to fix your gaze on the middle pin again, and your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth a little as you do so, before you crouch down a little, changing the angle of the ball with your hand until you finally come to fix on a position where if you let go the ball should swing off to the right. Then, “Like that?” you check. 

 

But, “Um, well, it’s really a little more subtle, if you”- and now Mycroft pauses from his rather uncertain, flustered beginning to slide awkwardly behind you, his hands going lightly upon your waist as he does so. Yet when you stiffen up a little at the feel of having him so close behind you, rather than carrying on with what he’d just been about to say he begins to ask you hurriedly, “Is this”-

 

But, “Yeah,” you blurt out, before you quickly swallow and Mycroft does the same.

 

Meanwhile back at the table Molly lets out a bit of a squeal and flaps her hands and Greg smirks a bit, before he sips at his drink. 

 

Yet the scene that’s unfolding before them isn't to everyone’s tastes, and, “Ugh, I can’t even look,” Sherlock complains, before he turns his head away dramatically, which makes John nudge him again. 

 

But, “They’re so sweet,” Molly protests, as she watches Mycroft and you still. 

 

And, “Yeah, if you want to vomit,” Sherlock quips, though he looks back at his brother and you in spite of himself. 

 

Mycroft clears his throat then, before he says, “Right, um, so if you just”- and now his hand slowly goes to cover yours on the ball, and your breath hitches in your chest when the first contact is made. And Sherlock lets out another, ‘Oh God,’ at the table. Then Mycroft uses all of his willpower not to just caress your hand, because people who are just friends don’t caress each other’s hands in his opinion, before he tilts the angle of the ball slightly. 

 

Your body jerks a little as he does so, and when you feel your bum catching against him you blurt out, “Sorry,” at once, before you attempt to straighten up, and you can’t know that your little act has sent Molly giggling, Greg smiling, John grinning and Sherlock cringing at the table. 

 

But, “It’s fine,” Mycroft says in both an automatic and even fashion, whilst he tries to ignore the jolt of something that you’d just sent hurtling through him, and he places his free hand firmly on your back to keep you down. 

 

Again you swallow at his touch, and at the press of him against you, before your eyes go back to fixing on the pins. Then slowly, with Mycroft guiding you, you arch your hand back, before you release the ball together. 

 

“Finally,” Sherlock breathes, now half-squinting at the pair of you so that he can close his eyes and quickly get away from everything should you subject him to any more horrors. 

 

But the horror part of the scenario seems to be over, for both Mycroft and you straighten up as you watch how the ball goes down the lane, even though neither of you make to step away from each other. Then your breath hitches in your chest as the ball makes contact with the first pin, before your eyes widen as the ball knocks down not just one but eight out of the ten pins. 

 

And then you yell out, “Oh my God Mycroft!” in excitement and spin around and hug him, which sends Sherlock quickly closing his eyes again, and in turn makes John laugh at the sight of him, whilst Molly and Greg chink their glasses together at the sight of Mycroft and you. 

 

Meanwhile Mycroft blushes and lets out a little breath, not only at the force of you but at the way that you bounce up and down a little with your hands on his shoulders as you pull away from him with a beam on your face. 

 

Then, “It’s not a strike,” he tells you a little awkwardly, because he feels embarrassed about how excited you’re getting. 

 

And though your face falls a little again at his negativity you can’t help but be diplomatic when you reply, “No, but that’s the best I've done all night, so thank you,” and Mycroft smiles a little without being able to help it. 

 

But then, “My brother”- he begins when it suddenly occurs to him that despite your improved performance Sherlock’s still won after all. 

 

Yet, “I know, but it doesn't matter,” you tell him, still a little flushed from your earlier triumph, and again Mycroft can’t help but smile. 

 

And at the table John now whispers in Sherlock’s ear, “We won,” which sends Sherlock’s eyes snapping open just as John knew they would. And then the pair share a hug, before John quickly smothers the triumphant gloat that Sherlock had begun to let out with a kiss. 

 

Mycroft and you look over at the sudden commotion, before you quickly look back at each other at the sight of Sherlock and John kissing, and as you do you think that by the way his lips are slightly parting that he might be about to say something else, or even make to kiss you himself, thus prolonging the nice moment that you’d just shared together. But then, in the next moment, he either loses his nerve or changes his mind, for he closes his mouth and pulls a bit of a resigned yet apologetic expression as he does so. Then he huffs out a bit of a breath, before he puts a delicate hand upon your shoulder and guides you back to the others. 

 

You look up at him as he does so with your heart sinking, and it’s the expression that he’s wearing then, one of slight frustration as if he’s a little disappointed with himself for not being able to talk to you further, that still plays on your mind later that night when you’re sitting alone on the settee in the living room with a cup of tea in between your hands. 

 

Sherlock and John meanwhile sit around the dining room table, and they talk quietly to each other, whilst Mycroft stands in the kitchen with his back turned to them as he makes some tea. 

 

John’s eyes keep going to the eldest Holmes and Sherlock can see where John’s mind is going to, but he just allows John’s thought processes to happen nonetheless. Then he listens when John says, “Should I”- as he looks at him once more. 

 

But, “No,” Sherlock interrupts, knowing that John was just about to ask whether he should go over and say anything to Mycroft, who looks lonely and troubled once more, before, and wanting John to pay attention to him instead, he snatches John’s can of beer up from the table and begins to lift it to his lips so that he can drink a bit of it. 

 

And sure enough, “Hey! Get your own,” is what John says at once, and Sherlock smiles a little around the can, before he sips at the drink, feeling happy that he’s successfully managed to distract John, at least for the moment. But Sherlock apparently drinks more than John would like for, “Okay Sherlock, that’s enough now…” John says in a slightly weary voice just a moment later, before he trails off. 

 

But, “I'm going to drink it all unless you stop me,” is all Sherlock says with a bit of a teasing smile, before he makes to drink even more. 

 

Yet before he can John’s hand grabs at his wrist, so Sherlock quickly jerks his arm away, before he holds the can up in the air out of John’s reach. This doesn't deter John from still trying to get to it though, and the ensuing sounds of their scuffling and laughter make Mycroft turn around from his post with a bit of a frown on his face. 

 

Then he lets out a bit of a breath when he sees what his brother and John are up to, before, and as a great pang of loneliness hits him, he turns back around, gripping onto the edge of the counter slightly with his hand, whilst he tries not to think about you. Tries not to think about how easy it would be to go to the living room where he knows you to be and join you…for he can’t he knows. He’s failed you again tonight, and though he doesn't quite know why he’s done so, apart from when he’d held himself back earlier because he’d been so tempted to just say to hell with it all and kiss you, he’s wary to do anything that might make things worse. Yet still the idea of joining you tempts him, for he couldn't imagine anything better right then. 

 

But even though he’s fighting with himself still, just like Molly was quite right when she said that he’s been doing so all week, by the time his tea’s ready he’s quite sure that he won’t in fact be joining you that night, quite sure that he’s got himself back under control. 

 

Yet as he turns around with his cup now in his hand and he sees that Sherlock’s lying on his back on the table, with his hand still outstretched behind him to keep the can from John, whilst John half-straddles him as he tries to reach for said can, his resolve for not seeking you out and for not trying to minimize his own loneliness begins to crumble. 

 

So, in one last attempt to restore the balance to his mind and to the world he goes over towards the table, which results in Sherlock jerking up a little so that he can look up at him, and John nearly topples off him as a result. 

 

Then, once he’s regained his balance once more, John says, “You should go and talk to her,” a little breathlessly as he turns his head to look at him. 

 

And, “Yes, stop things from getting even messier between you,” Sherlock concurs. 

 

“And you should stop lying on the table that everyone eats dinner at,” Mycroft can’t help but tell his brother. Yet he frowns just a moment later when Sherlock deliberately tips the can in his hand so that the beer begins to trickle out of it onto the floor. And, _“Sherlock…”_ Mycroft groans despairingly, because both the sight and sound of the beer going to the floor makes something go right through him, before he adds, “I’ll be telling Mummy about this”-

 

Yet, “And I’ll be telling Mummy how much of a coward her eldest son is,” is all Sherlock gets out, before when Mycroft opens his mouth and begins to protest he waves an irritated hand at him, says, “Go and talk to her Mycroft,” dismissively, sits up, flings the can of beer somewhere behind him and tugs John into a kiss. 

 

And Mycroft lets out another groan as the beer can clatters to the floor, before he quickly leaves the room. 

 

He’s still not sure if joining you is a good idea though, and quite frankly he feels rather more like complaining to someone about his brother in that moment. So, with Gregory in mind, he heads towards the stairs instead. He’s only halfway up them however when he swiftly changes his mind. For he hears a loud gasp and a bit of a giggle coming from Gregory’s room, and though he can’t know that Gregory’s kissing Molly passionately as they lie fully-clothed on his bed, he gets the general picture. So, feeling slightly annoyed and frustrated with everyone who isn't you, he decides to abandon the idea of doing anything else and join you after all. 

 

You’re surprised when Mycroft walks into the room with his own cup of tea, and you feel almost like the act of thinking about him had somehow summoned him to you. 

 

And, “Mind if I join you?” he asks, choosing to be as polite and careful with you as ever. 

 

So, “No,” you tell him sincerely with a bit of a smile, for you do honestly feel grateful to see him. 

 

And he smiles quickly back at you and then he places the cup of tea that he’s carrying down carefully on the table, before he sits next to you with a bit of a soft thump. 

 

Then you exchange another polite smile with each other, before he slides back a little and lets out a momentarily satisfied kind of sigh. And you can’t know how all the frustration he’d felt just now is beginning to fade just because of the simple act of being beside you, which is exactly where he feels he always belongs. 

 

So, because you can’t know such a thing you simply look at him rather curiously, before you ask with a bit of a smile, “You enjoyed tonight then?” 

 

And he makes a sound of agreement even though, if truth were told, he hadn't all that much enjoyed it. Not when things had been so awkward between you and not when he’d been constantly reminded that he wasn't in a relationship with you any more. So, hoping you won’t be able to detect how he really feels he reaches across to take a quick sip of his tea. Then, once he’s leant back again he taps at your knee a little with his, before he decides to tentatively venture, “You seemed a little quiet at times.” And then, deciding that now he’s here he might as well try and have a proper conversation with you about things after all, he goes on more bravely, “I thought that since you seemed so keen to go you might have appeared to outwardly enjoy it a little more.”

 

And the delicate light tone of his voice tells you at once that though he’s desperate not to push you further away from him he genuinely wants to try and understand you more in that moment, and too, you know that you owe him such a thing after everything that you've put him through. 

 

So you try to be brave too, when, after shifting your position a little and putting your cup down on the table beside his, you say, “I-I guess it’s about what we talked about last night”-

 

And, _“F/N,”_ Mycroft protests as he shifts his position too, so that he’s turned towards you more. 

 

But, “No, just listen to me for a moment Mycroft please,” you tell him, and he seems to do some quick thinking in his head, before he nods. Then, “I know we talked about it last night, and I know that you made it quite clear that you’re not going to budge on this issue,” you go on, before when Mycroft opens his mouth, you add quickly, “And I'm not going to push it, if that’s how you feel then fine, I'm not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to”- and your mind can’t help but flit to Mycroft’s mother now and you can’t know that Mycroft’s mind is just doing the same. “But seeing Molly with Greg tonight, and your brother with John too, well, i-it just made me feel, well, lonely I guess.” And then when Mycroft just looks at you with torn emotions spread out all over his face, you go on more desperately, “Didn't it make you feel strange too?”

 

 _“No,”_ Mycroft gets out quickly in quite a cold tone, a little too quickly in fact, and so when he sees that you've noticed such a thing he huffs out a bit of a breath and wriggles slightly, his knee knocking against your leg a little as he does so. Then, “It was a little difficult I admit,” he finally relents, before he goes on in a great rush, “But F/N,” and he takes your hands with his now. Yet he drops them just as quickly when he remembers himself, before he goes on, “We can’t, we made an agreement,” and then when you pull a bit of a face he adds, “It’s not just about not wanting to break that, it’s about the main reason that we made it in the first place, your health”-

 

“But all this isn't exactly helping my health either,” you tell him, waving your hands in the air a little. Then, at his slightly puzzled expression you go on, “All this like you taking my hands just then, before you think that you shouldn't and drop them”- and Mycroft has the decency to look embarrassed now, before he listens as you continue in a more fervent tone, “I mean, when we were just friends before we touched each other didn't we? We hugged and we touched each other’s hands and we even slept together on the settee”-

 

“That was an accident,” Mycroft cuts in. 

 

And, “I know,” you tell him, before you add, “But it still happened,” with some frustration in your tone. Then you ask him, “So why can’t it be like that again? If you can’t give me anything else then just give me that, give me _hope”-_

 

Yet, “Maybe I've run out of hope to give you until you give _me_ some, maybe I can’t relax with you completely because there’s always this barrier between us because you’re not letting me in,” Mycroft says, and though you can tell that he’s trying to keep his voice even you can tell that he’s getting frustrated too, and so you just look at each other rather desperately for a moment. 

 

Then you slump back a bit and flap your hands in the air despairingly as you say, “I don’t even know _what_ you want me to tell you so badly.” 

 

So, “Just the sort of things that you tell Molly, or like what you told my brother last night,” Mycroft begins, before he huffs out a bit of a breath and goes on, “I just want you to let me in F/N, for you to be completely honest with me, because until you do then we’re just going to go around this same circle…” But even when he trails off you can tell that he’s not quite finished so you wait. And sure enough, “Sometimes I- despite everything that’s happened-feel like I still don’t know anything about you at all”-

 

But, “You know my biggest secret,” you protest, not being able to stay silent any longer. For how can you when he’s falsely acting, in your opinion, like he knows nothing about you? 

 

Yet, “I know, but I'm not necessarily talking about big, revelatory things here F/N, I'm just talking about little things that may not seem significant to you but things that I don’t know about you, things that I’d _like_ to know about you,” Mycroft explains, and something about the way he says it makes you smile and feel a bit warmer inside, whilst you feel a flattered that he genuinely seems to want to get to know you so well, and seeing you doing such a thing makes him smile a bit too. 

 

Then, “Like what?” you ask him as you reach forwards to take another sip of your tea. 

 

And, “I don’t know,” is Mycroft’s immediate and slightly exasperated response as you lean back, before upon quickly thinking about the matter some more he says, “About your parents for one. I want to know what they were like. Would they have enjoyed tonight if they’d come? Did you ever go bowling with them?” 

 

And a small smile that’s both happy and sad graces your face now as you look off to the side of him, whilst you reminisce about your family. Then, “They would have loved it,” you confess fervently as you look back at him, and his face softens a little as you do so, whilst his eyes fix themselves completely on you so that he can take every expression that you pull as you say each word in. Then you let out a bit of a laugh as you remember something, before, as your eyes glisten with emotion you explain it to him when you tell him, “We didn't go bowling a lot. But when we did it was always really fun. My dad used to help me take a shot, he’d always pick up the lightest ball and pass it to me, even when I was a little older and I could handle more”- and it suddenly occurs to Mycroft that your dad was probably a little bit overprotective of you, and he finds himself smiling a little bit at the fact-“Whilst my mum, she always gave the biggest cheer, no matter how rubbish I’d done, and it was a little embarrassing sometimes”- 

 

And as Mycroft realizes that he should have played the role of your biggest supporter tonight, and realizes that, that’s perhaps what you’d more than likely wanted from him, he can’t help but feel a bit annoyed with himself. Annoyed enough to breathe, “I should have”-

 

Yet, “Mycroft, stop,” you tell him, and then when he looks at you, you go on, “Molly’s right. You need to stop beating yourself up for every little thing you do wrong. And I need to stop acting like you can read my mind and know exactly what I'm thinking without me telling you,” and then you pause and swallow a bit, before you go on, “I know that I need to let you in. I _know_ that. I just…” and you trail off now. But you don’t intend to just leave it there. For you know, now more than ever and whilst you’re currently having this conversation that you need to try and make him understand. So, once you think that you might have found enough words in order to be able to go on, you tell him, “I think, for some reason, probably because of how I feel about you”-and Mycroft’s heart does a little flip in his chest now-“That it’s just harder y’know? Harder in some ways to begin talking to you about things than Molly or anyone else. Harder because I keep second-guessing myself and harder because I don’t want to make things worse between us…and it’s not like I don’t care about what Molly thinks about me because I do, but you…you know so many things that I already wish you didn't, things like Moriarty I mean, things that I wish I could have protected you from, and you were there for me all of last year even when I was telling you not to be…and I…I dunno,” and you give him a bit of a hopeless shrug now, “I guess I just, I just feel like”-

 

But, “I told you before that nothing I ever find out about you will make me hate you, and I stand by that F/N. No matter what you tell me about what happened last year, or your nightmares, or any other ways that your parents had for embarrassing you for that matter”- and you let out a bit of a watery snort now-“It won’t stop me from wanting to be there for you. And more than that I want you to feel like you can tell me anything, I think I've always wanted you to feel like that ever since I met you,” Mycroft finishes, and you nod now. But then he goes on, “And as for you wanting to protect me from it all”-

 

Yet, knowing that he’s going to go against that point you interrupt him by trying to explain further, “I saw how much of what happened last year affected you and I don’t want”-

 

But, “I'm only going to worry about you even more if you don’t let me in F/N,” Mycroft tells you with a firm kind of gentleness, and you nod and swallow a little, whilst you look at your knees for a moment. 

 

Then, “I’ll try harder to I promise,” you say as you look back to him, before you ask, “But what about you? Will you try not to pull away from me so much even though we’re just friends?” and there’s something almost challenging to your tone now. 

 

So Mycroft lets out a little breath now, before he nods. Then, “I’ll try,” he promises, though he quickly warns, “But I'm still going to stand by our agreement.”

 

And, “That’s fine,” you tell him after your eyes scan his face for a moment and see the determination that’s there. 

 

Then there’s a moment of silence between the pair of you, with you both feeling a larger amount of satisfaction from the conversation that you've just had together. 

 

But then, “I'm beginning to think that we should just go along with whatever Molly thinks we should do from now on, no matter how crazy it might seem,” you reveal with a bit of a smile as you can’t help but think of how if it hadn't been for her suggesting that you all go bowling with each other tonight then you would have never had this more honest conversation with Mycroft right now. 

 

And, “Mm, she does have good ideas doesn't she?” Mycroft murmurs in agreement, before he swallows when you shift down a little so that you can rest your head against his shoulder. Then, despite the fact that he knows you’re testing him right then, he can’t help but get out, _“F/N,”_ a little warningly. 

 

But, “We did this when we were just friends,” you remind him softly, your head tilting up to look at him once more, whilst you desperately hope that he won’t pull away from you right now, and your body can’t help but tense up a little in anticipation of him doing such a thing. 

 

Yet you feel him softening underneath you just a moment later, and so your own body relaxes too, before you feel relief fill you when he murmurs a quiet, “All right.” Then he moves slightly so that he can place a delicate hand upon your waist, and you let out a soft breath of contentment. For even though you know that this moment won’t last, and that a nightmare probably awaits you later on, right now you’re here with him, right now you’re safe, and experiencing that very moment, and right now, that’s more than enough for you. 

 

And, for the first time that day, you feel hope.


	2. Be Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things get more intense in your sessions with Dr. Magnussen, both Mycroft and Sherlock struggle to deal with their own feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for all your support! :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

“Moriarty keeps on coming towards me. I push myself back in the armchair. But there’s no room for me to get up because he’s already too close. He leans over me and no matter how much I try to, I can’t escape him. He just won’t let me. He smirks at me, reaching across to lick my cheek with his tongue”- you pause to wriggle a bit, your breath tight in your chest. “He pins his hands down on my arms and it hurts, Christ it hurts so much and I”- you go on, before you break off and finally open your eyes, tears streaming down your face as you do so. 

 

Magnussen sits just opposite you. Today is your second session with him, and the first major thing that he’d asked you to do was to go back into your mind, meet Moriarty there and speak out loud as you did so. He’s been making notes as you spoke; you could hear the slight scratching of his pen. But now he stills and just stares at you, both the pad of paper and the pen now resting upon his lap on the familiar blue folder. Then he asks, “Has it always been similar to that? Every time you've practised?” 

 

“Yes,” you nod, before you elaborate, “No matter how much I want to, I just can’t seem to get off the chair, sometimes I can’t even push back, I just freeze up,” and you sound frustrated now. 

 

“Well, like I informed you last week, it will take some time F/N,” Magnussen reminds you coolly, before he enquires in an evener tone, “Your nightmares? Have they changed?” 

 

Again you nod, before you swallow a bit and tell him, “Yes, they’re always set in this room now”-

 

“With you on the chair?” Magnussen asks, in between jotting down another note. 

 

“N-No,” you get out as you shake your head, before you admit, “With me on the floor,” and that great sense of shame and uncleanliness that you’d always felt after whenever Moriarty raped you returns to you. You swipe at your eyes with your hands to try and stop the flow of tears. Then, as you lower your hands so that your elbows go back to resting on your knees, whilst you hunch forward, you tell him, “Moriarty’s always on top of me, pinning me down,” and your fingers tangle together now. 

 

Again Magnussen jots something down, before he looks up at you and asks, “When do you mostly practice?” 

 

“Just before I go to bed,” you tell him, for although you know that he’d told you to try and practice at different times of the day, it’s only then, when you’re finally alone and with no chance of being disturbed, that you've found that you've had a chance to. 

 

“Ah, I thought so,” Magnussen replies, jotting down another hurried note, before he rests his pen back down, looks back up at you and explains, “Your nightmares have more than likely changed their setting because this room has now become one of the last things that you think about, before you fall asleep. It’s also clear to me that the physical aspects of what’s happened to you form a common barrier in both your thought processes and your nightmares, therefore preventing you from moving forwards mentally. So, whilst I want you to keep doing the homework that I set you last week, and whilst I’d advise that you keep doing it at the same time so that we can see if any changes develop, I’d like to try something else with you too. Something that might help you better deal with the physical side of what’s happened.” You nod now, feeling a little apprehensive. Then you swallow quickly and push back in your chair when Magnussen gets to his feet suddenly. 

 

“It’s all right F/N, I'm not him,” he reassures you soothingly, whilst he holds his hands up placatingly, and something about his words and the gesture remind you of Mycroft, so again you nod and swallow, feeling more mollified. 

 

You watch as Magnussen goes around and rummages in a drawer. He pulls a black marker pen from it, before he returns to you and crouches down before you. 

 

Again you feel that sense that you want to push back in your chair and get yourself as far away from him as you can. But after what he’s just said in particular you feel determined not to do so, so you hold your ground. 

 

“May I?” he asks, nodding to your arms now, and it’s only because of the fact that he asked in a very Mycroft-like way that you nod instinctively. 

 

Magnussen’s eyes drop from yours and down to your arms, before he carefully makes to draw your sleeves upwards. You wince a little as he does so, but he barely falters at your action. Instead he just carries on pushing your sleeves up until your forearms are fully exposed to him. 

 

He turns them, one by one, so that your old bruises are revealed to him. Then, as he places a delicate finger upon one and traces the outline of the bruise that’s there, your breath hitches in your chest and you have to scrunch up your face just so that you don’t automatically draw back away from him. For as soon as he touches you it’s like you feel this unpleasant energy begin to infiltrate your whole body. This energy that automatically makes you want to draw away, and as his finger moves to go horizontally across your bruise and you feel the press of it against your painful, vulnerable skin, you nearly draw back regardless of the fact that you’re trying not to. 

 

You still as he murmurs softly, “Yes, I can see why they would affect you,” before you shiver and try to swallow back the tears that threaten you as he looks at you once more. Then you nod and let out a bit of a gurgle as he says, “Don’t worry F/N, we’ll sort them out, and soon all this will be nothing but a long, distant memory to you,” before you watch as he picks up the pen once more. He takes the cap off it and studies the marks on your arm for another moment. Then he looks up at you as he warns you, “Now, this might hurt a little, but I swear to you that I'm doing it for a good reason, a reason that will soon become clear to you, okay?” and you nod, before you let out a bit of a gasp as he begins to press the pen to your arm. 

 

He steadies your arm with his free hand, and you watch as he slowly begins to colour in all of your bruises, making them bold and vivid and making you swallow as they become so. Then he repeats the process with your other arm, and you can barely look at either of them by the time he’s finished. 

 

“Look at them F/N.” 

 

You shake your head automatically, your arms tugging themselves a little out of his grasp as further tears spill down your face, whilst you get out a fearful, “I-I”-

 

 _“Look at them,”_ Magnussen commands you again, and finally you do so. A little breath escapes you as you see how ugly and marred your arms look. “Every painful experience that you've ever had, every time that you've cried or felt so much hurt that you thought that you might explode from it all, all of those moments are represented by what your arms look like now,” Magnussen goes on, and again you want to get away, again you want to sob as all the darkness stretches its tentacles out inside you. But in the next moment Magnussen says, “Come with me,” so you look at him in confusion for a moment, before you watch as he stands and begins to make his way over to a door that’s not the one you’d entered from, but one that's on the right of the room. One you've never even noticed before. 

 

Automatically as you twist around to watch him you begin to rise. Then you’re drawing to your feet and steadily beginning to make your way across to the door, which he’s now opened. 

 

Just past it you can see counters and a sink and a small kettle for making tea, which has a box of biscuits next to it. 

 

But it’s the sink that Magnussen nods to, before he informs you in a voice that’s somehow both rough and gentle all at the same time, “This kind of representation we can wipe off though, more easily than any scars that have been left in the mind.”

 

Feeling suddenly grateful to him, you go across to the sink and begin to wash the pen off. The effect that doing so has on you is rather remarkable and a little scary too. For as the pen begins to fade and your arms begin to return to the state that you've now become accustomed to seeing them in, you start to feel lighter and more at ease, as if you really _are_ getting rid of some aspect of what Moriarty has left you with. Magnussen must sense such a thing, and he smiles a little, giving you a flash of those yellowing teeth again as you smile a little uncertainly back at him, before you take the small, blue towel that he passes to you. 

 

On your way back to the consulting room Magnussen offers you a biscuit from the box, so you take one, again feeling grateful. 

 

Then as you munch on it he says, “I’d like you, before you have a bath or a shower, to mark your arms up just like I did now. Before you wash it off though I think it would be a good idea if you spent a minute or two thinking about everything that, that pen represents. Allow such feelings to fill you and take over you completely. Then, when you can bear them no more, begin the process of washing it off. That way you can get the same feeling of relief that you clearly got just now.” You nod, thinking that, that’s something, if done enough times, that might help you and that more than that might flip a switch that clearly needs to be moved in your mind, before you can finally begin to get better. “Again, I don’t want to do much more with you today,” Magnussen goes on, “But there’s still one last thing that I wanted to discuss with you.” You notice that he sounds rather hesitant now, so as you finish off your biscuit you wipe the crumbs off you, before you look at him curiously. “You see,” Magnussen continues, “You mentioned something last week that rather gave me cause for concern.” You stiffen up and bite at your lip a bit, whilst you wonder what on earth you’d said that was so alarming. For aside from telling Magnussen about Moriarty you hadn't really spoken much at all last week, and he doesn’t seem particularly concerned that you won’t be able to recover from all you've been through, on the contrary up until now he’s been quite positive-

 

“You mentioned that you want to get better for the sake of other people”- Magnussen begins. 

 

You relax a little as soon as he says that, for you can’t see any problem. “My boyfriend Mycroft,” you get out automatically with a bit of a smile, before you quickly frown and correct yourself, “Well, technically he’s not my boyfriend right now, we’re just staying friends for the moment, whilst I…but he will be at some point. That’s the deal we made.” As you remember the talk that Mycroft and you had, had after the bowling game you feel more hopeful than ever. 

 

 _“Ah,”_ Magnussen says prominently with a bit of a frown on his face, before he asks, “Is this Mycroft a student too?” 

 

“Yes,” you nod with a bit of a smile as you think of Mycroft once more. 

 

But Magnussen simply shifts a little, before he confesses, “What concerns me is the way that you said that you want to get better for other people, before you said that you want to get better for yourself.” You frown a little. Then you listen as he goes on, “If what you've just told me is anything to go by then I'm sure it would be right for me to say that one of your primary motivations for getting better is so that you can resume your relationship with this Mycroft fellow?” 

 

“Yes, of course,” you say, and you both feel and sound a little frustrated now because you don’t know where Magnussen is going with this, but you _do_ get a sense that it’s not anywhere you’d like it to, and you feel a prickle of something uneasy in your stomach. 

 

“Hmm,” Magnussen says consideringly as he looks away from you, and you wonder what on earth, _‘Hmm,’_ means. “Tell me, has this Mycroft been very supportive to you?” 

 

“Yes, he’s been amazing, he even gave me your card so that I could try and get better,” you say, wanting to show Mycroft in the best possible light. 

 

“Hmm, in that case,” Magnussen begins, and you feel both a little tentative and apprehensive as you stare at him. “It might be,” he says, before he pauses again. 

 

“Might be what?” you ask, wanting him to just get on with it so that the dread in your stomach might be able to evaporate. 

 

Yet he just shifts his position again for a moment, before he tells you, “I appreciate that this isn't strictly a matter, which you might think that I should voice my opinion on. But I did say that I’d be honest with you about everything, didn't I F/N?” You nod now. “So, with that being said, I have to admit that I think you’re wanting to get better for the wrong reasons,” he goes on, and when you open your mouth to protest he raises a hand to silence you and say, “I think you’re doing it more for other people, and more in particular for this Mycroft fellow, than yourself. Whilst it’s nice that you have this man’s support, and no doubt the support of other people too, at the end of the day that alone isn't going to make you better. At the end of the day you have to do it for yourself. That’s the only way you’ll ever get better F/N.” You don’t know what to say to that, so for a moment you just open and close your mouth, whilst you begin to process what he’s just said. Magnussen’s not done yet though, for he goes on, “Furthermore I don’t think that it’s a wise thing for you to have the prospect of this relationship with this man dangling over you. I think from the sounds of it it’s most probable that although he might care for you he’s deluding himself, and that he has no idea about how long all this, your recovery, could take.” 

 

“What are you saying?” you ask, because although you think that you’re starting to be able to see where he’s going with this, another part of you can’t help but hope that it’s not what you think, and you know that you won’t be able to rest until you find out either way. 

 

“I think that by the time you’re well enough and able to have a proper, stable relationship, this Mycroft fellow will have moved on. Then you’ll find yourself upset again and having to recover from that, which could seriously detriment all the progress that you've made in this room. Even perhaps meaning that you'll have to start this process all over again.”

 

It’s a grim note to end on, and when you’re back in your room later that day, you can’t get Magnussen’s words out of your head. 

 

To the point where when Mycroft knocks lightly on your door and says a cautious, “F/N? I just came to check how things went today?” you’re so worked up that you automatically snap out, “I'm fine!” 

 

Mycroft flinches a little at your tone and withdraws his hand quickly from the doorknob. “I'm just trying to”- 

 

“I _know_! But you’re not helping Mycroft,” you interrupt him in the same snappy tone that you’d used before, and though of course you feel guilty from knowing the effect that your words will have on him, you just can’t seem to stop yourself from talking to him in that way at that moment. 

 

Instead of your words making him go away like you’d half-hoped that they would however, just so that you wouldn't hurt him again, if for nothing else, they make him call out softly, “F/N, I”- then he breaks off automatically when he opens the door and sees you as you sit on the floor at the foot of your bed with your knees drawn up to your chest, whilst your hair looks wild and ragged. It’s the tears that make multiple tracks on your face though and the desperate look in your eyes as you look at him that makes him take a step forwards and breathe, _“F/N”-_

 

“Go away Mycroft,” you interrupt him stubbornly, whilst you turn your head so that you don’t have to look at him. 

 

 _“F/N,”_ Mycroft persists, for can’t you see that all he wants to do is help you and make you feel better right now?

 

“GET OUT!” you scream at him, looking at him, whilst tears fly from your eyes. 

 

For a moment Mycroft just stares at you, his mouth opening and closing helplessly, whilst he feels both shocked and hurt that you’d spoken to him in such a way. 

 

You’re just about to huff out more angry words of frustration at him when you both hear a clattering of noise upon the stairs. 

 

In the next moment, Greg, no doubt having been alerted by your yell appears behind Mycroft with Molly close at his heels. 

 

“I just came in when”- Greg breathes out, looking in between you now, whilst Molly takes the scene in too with a rather frantic expression about her face. 

 

“I just want him to leave,” you mumble, without looking at any of them, whilst you feel both embarrassed and confused like a child who’s just wet the bed and is only now realising it. 

 

“F/N, I”- Mycroft says, as he takes another small step forwards. 

 

“C’mon mate, just let Molly talk to her for a bit,” Greg urges, stepping forwards and placing a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder now to try and pull him back, whilst Molly goes and crouches down beside you. 

 

Mycroft just shrugs Greg off irritably, before he says, “I'm fed up of Molly talking to her, of being the only one that she doesn’t talk to,” and he sounds so upset and emotional now that it makes you look at him. 

 

You swallow when you see the tears that are wavering in his eyes as he looks at you, before, not knowing what to do; you turn your head away from him. 

 

It’s like that one act from you sends Mycroft spiralling further down into his own despair. “F/N, _please_ ,” he begs, before he hurries forwards and crouches down in front of you. “Please, please just tell me about what happened to upset you so much today,” he urges you, before when you shake your head more insistently he asks, “ _Why?_ Why won’t you tell me?” with his voice cracking. 

 

Again you just shake your head wildly back and forth with your eyes scrunched shut and tears still leaking out from underneath your eyelids. Mycroft’s shoulders slump in desolation. 

 

After a bit of a pleading look from Molly for him to do so, Greg hurries forwards and pulls Mycroft back up into a standing position with another encouraging, “C’mon mate.”

 

“I just want to help you,” is all Mycroft tells you, and the sound of his soft, desperate words as they float down to you makes your head still, before you open your eyes again as Greg slowly begins to guide Mycroft out of the room. 

 

Molly pulls you to her a moment later, and you cry into her shoulder for a minute, whilst she strokes at your hair. 

 

“Now tell me what this is about,” she says softly as you both draw back from each other. 

 

“Magnussen thinks that, h-he thinks that by the time I get better Mycroft won’t want me any more,” you finally get out as more tears spill down your face, and Molly lets out a bit of a gasp. 

 

“Why ever would he say that?” 

 

“He thinks that Mycroft doesn’t realise how long it’s going to take for me to get better, that he’s deluding himself, and that it’s stupid for me to actually believe that I'm going to have a relationship with him by the time I get better…” and as you bury your head in your knees for a moment Molly holds you close to her again, whilst she looks troubled. 

 

“None of us know what the future holds, that’s true, and none of us know how long it’s going to take for you to get better,” she begins diplomatically. “But F/N, Mycroft really loves you, anyone can see that. You don’t even have to listen to the way that he speaks to you, you can just tell from the way he looks at you,” she goes on, and you sniff a bit as you raise your head blearily from your knees. 

 

“But that’s right _now_ ,” you protest, “When he realizes how long it might take”- 

 

“Then tell him,” Molly urges as she grips onto your hands and shakes them a little, “Tell him and trust that he’ll carry on sticking by you.” But then when she sees how uncertain you look she adds, “You have to trust him F/N, because I think, at the moment, you’re treating him just as delicately as he was treating you over the summer.”

 

It’s then; as you swallow and take in her words that something clicks inside you and steadies your thoughts. But even though you know that she’s right and hearing her say it is ten times more powerful than just knowing such a truth in your head, it also makes you feel more hesitant too. Hesitant enough to say, “You didn't see him, when we, when _I_ left him over the summer, he was crying and his shoulders were shaking, and I-I don’t ever want to make him feel that way again.”

 

“You've told me all this before,” Molly reminds you with a firm kind of gentleness as you look at her. “Over the phone all summer,” she adds, before she goes on, “I think you need to stop re-hashing over everything in your head. I think you need to be brave and tell him as much as you can about how you’re feeling right now, and I think you need to trust that he’s strong enough to deal with it, or”-

 

“You think he won’t want to be with me,” you finish her sentence hollowly. 

 

“I don’t know F/N,” she shrugs, before she shifts her position uncomfortably. Then she goes on, “All I know is that I think Mycroft probably feels similar to how you felt over the summer, trapped and frustrated, because you’re not letting him help you. You want a relationship with him, I know you do, but at the moment I think you’re just making things a lot harder than they need to be.” Once more you know what you have to do. 

 

“I don’t think I’ll go out with you all tomorrow night, I think I’ll stay here and try to talk to Mycroft instead,” you say, pushing your hair a bit back from your face now. 

 

Molly smiles and nods encouragingly at you, before she says, “We won’t tell anyone until right before we’re supposed to leave. You can stay up here and I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well. That way everyone else except Mycroft will go and you should have the house to yourselves.” 

 

You nod consideringly, whilst you think about it all. But then, suddenly worried that Mycroft will still go anyway, you begin to say, “What if”- before you break off, because you know that you’re just falling into the same trap when you should trust that he’ll stay as soon as he hears that you’re ill. 

 

Molly, looking pleased by you stopping yourself from carrying on in the same way, just smiles encouragingly at you, before she gets up. Then she tells you, “It will get better F/N,” and you nod. 

 

Still it’s hard to fully believe such a thing when you wake up that night, fresh from another nightmare, shaking and sobbing. Hard to see anything but the darkness. So, knowing that you can’t stay there right now you clamber out of bed and wrap your dressing gown around you, before you make your way downstairs. 

 

You can’t face Mycroft right now though, can’t face trying to drag the words that you know you’ll be telling him tomorrow out of you. Nor can you be bothered to make yourself a hot drink. So instead you go into the living room and curl up on the settee, whilst you wait for your sobs to subside. 

 

*

 

Mycroft can’t sleep. He just keeps thinking of how, once Gregory and him had come downstairs earlier, the words, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can do this,’ had tumbled out of his mouth, before he’d been able to stop them. They’d instantly made him feel guilty, so he’d rushed to shut himself in his room. A hopeless kind of cry had left his mouth as he’d done so. Then, whilst Gregory had gone on to carry on cooking the dinner that Molly had started to, he’d gone on to torment himself for speaking such words for the rest of the night. He hadn't even been able to eat anything when both Molly and Gregory had encouraged him to try and do so. For he’d felt like he didn't deserve to eat, not after what he’d said, because what right did he have to be so selfish right now? What right did he have to want to protect himself? Especially after what you’d been through. But if you could just let him in, an argumentative voice had stated. If you could just let him in and be more honest with him. Just because you can’t though, doesn’t give him the right to try and backtrack, to give up on you and any possible future that he might have with you just to try and protect himself. For all of this has gone too far he knows, far too far for him to even attempt to do such a thing. He’s already hurt and is hurting too much, and more than that he doesn’t want to stop trying to be there for you. For no matter how rude and cold you are to him he can sense, and only because that is exactly the way that he’d act if he were in your situation, that underneath all of that you need him. Sense that there’s just a scared little girl hiding there. He just wishes that he knew what to do to unlock her. He lets out a sigh now. Then he pulls himself upward, swings out of bed and pulls his dressing gown on, with the intention of going to make some tea. If it wasn't so late then perhaps he’d call Father and ask for his advice. But it _is_ late he knows, so any calls to Father will have to wait.

 

Once he’s made the tea he heads into the living room so that he might be able to drink it in comfort. But once he flicks the light on he falters and lets out a breath. For there, curled up on the settee, are you, and he just watches you for a moment. Watches the way that your knees are slightly bent and the troubled flickering of something beneath your eyelids as your hair curves across your cheek. 

 

Then he swallows, goes across and perches himself upon the edge of the settee that’s closest to your head, before he places his tea delicately down upon the coffee table. 

 

You let out a little whimper a moment later and shift your position, your feet kicking out. 

 

Instinctively he heaves you gently forwards, so that your head rests upon his lap, before he begins to carefully work his fingers through your hair. 

 

You stir and let out a bit of a gasp as you open your eyes. Then you jerk upwards, whilst his lips part, before your whole face becomes transformed with hope as you blurt out, “You came.” He feels startled a moment later when you fling yourself at him, your arms going around his neck. 

 

Your words don’t make any more sense to him though than your action. For he can’t know that you’d been starting to fall into another nightmare again. Can’t know that you’d just been starting to call out his name when finally the door in Magnussen’s room had opened and Mycroft had stepped in, his face becoming cold with rage, as he’d seen Moriarty there. Can’t know that when you’d discovered he was there beside you in reality it had felt like he’d genuinely come to rescue you. The overwhelming emotion that you feel, all the hope, sadness and guilt makes you sob, your body shuddering against his. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you get out, your hands slipping down to grip at the front of his dressing gown, and you bend your head so that your nose presses into the soft material of it. 

 

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, feeling even more confused by your erratic behaviour as his hands go to support your back, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, before he rests his chin down against it, his throat feeling tight with emotion. 

 

His soothing words and actions just make you gasp a little more, before you draw your head back. 

 

“All this time I’ve been so horrible to you, and you’re just trying to help, and I-I don’t, I-I don’t deserve you. Please don’t stop being friends with me,” you beg. 

 

“I'm never going to stop being your friend,” he says, for he knows this with certainty, and he feels even guiltier for the words he’d spoken earlier. “Where’s this all come from?” he asks, as he pulls back a little now with his brow furrowed so that your eyes can meet. But then as he sees your face wavering he feels sure that he knows what the answer is. “The nightmares”- yet you shake your head then so he breaks off. 

 

“No,” you tell him, before, “T-The one I had just now was better, better because you came. I was calling for you and the door opened, its never done that before.” Then, because you want him to understand even more you go on, “They always take place in Magnussen’s room now, I'm on the floor a-and Moriarty’s”- Mycroft tightens his grip on you-“Moriarty’s on top of me and I always try to call out for either Magnussen or you, but neither of you have ever come until tonight”-

 

“I’ll always come for you,” Mycroft interrupts you fervently and you nod. “So where’s the idea that I won’t come from?” he asks as you begin to wipe at your eyes, and you turn your head away from him. Then you press a soft, delicate kiss to the area just beneath his shoulder, before you clamber off him. Mycroft, fully expecting you to leave him just sighs, before he slides back further on the settee. But much to his surprise you don’t. You just move to sit beside him on the settee, before your head slowly turns to look at him. “Magnussen said”- 

 

 _“Magnussen?”_ Mycroft asks with his brow furrowing, and you nod. 

 

“H-He said that you-you probably don’t appreciate how long this is all going to take, me getting better I mean, and that by the time I do, you-you won’t want to be with me any more.” 

 

“Well that’s a load of”- 

 

“It could take _months_ Mycroft,” you interrupt him, for you know that for the both of your sakes you need to make sure that he understands this point. That he _truly_ gets how long it could take. Then, as he looks troubled and turns his head so that he’s facing the front you let out a bit of a breath and run a hand back through your hair. “It could even take _years,_ you go on, "I hope it won’t,” you add quickly as he looks at you. “But it might,” you finish; whilst you look uncertainly down at your knees, and Mycroft looks at you calculatingly for a moment, before he looks away from you again. 

 

“I don’t care how long it takes,” he gets out in one shuddery breath as he leans forwards slightly, his hands resting on his knees. 

 

 _“But”-_

 

“I love you, don’t you get that by now?” Mycroft asks, tears flying out of his eyes as he turns his head to look at you. “I love you and I’ll wait for you. I don’t care how long it takes,” he huffs out with frustration in his tone, and you swallow as you stare at him. Then you nod, and Mycroft, looking a little relieved that you seem to have, for now anyway, grasped that point, swallows himself, before he looks away. “What are you even doing in Magnussen’s sessions anyway?” he asks, both a little suddenly and roughly, before he goes on, “Your nightmares are getting worse, and now you’re coming out with things like that. Things that have absolutely no foundation based on what he’s told you. So what exactly _is_ going on in them F/N?” 

 

“H-He’s got this technique,” you begin, before you swallow, “Where he makes me close my eyes and picture the consulting room in my mind. Then he tells me to imagine what would happen if Moriarty were to walk in”- Mycroft opens his mouth now. “I thought it was a little crazy too at first,” you tell him, “But then he said that one day I’d be able to go out of the room and lock Moriarty inside it, so that he won’t be able to hurt me any more”-

 

“Surely there’s a better way of going about it?” Mycroft queries now. 

 

“It’ll work, I know it will,” you tell him as you look pleadingly into his eyes. Then you go on to tell him about the technique that involves your bruises that Magnussen had told you about. But still Mycroft doesn’t look convinced. “It’ll work,” you tell him again. 

 

“What concerns me is the rate of how much he’s pushing you, and how much he’s upsetting you when you’re already feeling vulnerable enough as it is”- Mycroft begins. 

 

“Please just trust me on this, its only been two sessions, it’s bound to take more time. I'm bound to find it a bit difficult, before it gets any easier,” you tell him, moving down to kneel on the floor in front of him now, whilst you clutch at his hands. 

 

Mycroft takes in the determined, pleading expression on your face for a moment. “Okay,” he tells you as you begin to caress encouragingly at his hands. But as soon as your face brightens he adds, “We’ll have to keep an eye on this though F/N. If your nightmares keep getting worse then perhaps it would be best if you went to see someone else. There are other techniques I'm sure. There’s no shame in admitting that these current ones might not be working for you.”

 

“They will, I know they will,” you tell him with certainty, whilst you squeeze at his hands. 

 

“Okay,” he concedes with a half-smile on his face, and he finds himself growing warm a moment later when you dart up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Come,” he tells you once you straighten up so that you’re now in a standing position, “I’ll see you back to bed.” You smile a little as he stands up himself. 

 

You turn and begin to lead the way upstairs. Then you go straight into your room once you reach it without stopping. But Mycroft hovers uncertainly by the open door as you take off your dressing gown and slide underneath the duvet. Once you see such a thing you stretch out a hand towards him. Then, when he comes across to take it, you ask him, “Will you tell me a story? A funny one?” 

 

Mycroft smiles a little, before he breathes, “Okay.” Then he lets go of your hand so that he can go across and pull your desk chair across to your bed. 

 

You’d rather he was in bed beside you, perhaps holding you close with one arm. But remembering how you’d promised not to push the issue of you developing your relationship any further with each other right now, and not wanting to rush the progress that you feel you've made tonight, you don’t say anything. 

 

“I was eleven when this happened. Sherlock was nine,” Mycroft begins, “It was over the summer holidays and Mummy and Father had just popped out to a friends. They weren't planning on being long”- you smile a little at this, knowing that he’d purely said it so that you wouldn't think his parents were bad, or in the case of his mother, that she’s any worse than you already think she is-“But I was to be in charge whilst they were away. Anyway, at first I thought I’d carry on reading”-you smile now, imagining little Mycroft with his head bent over and a tomb of a book in his hands-“I could hear Sherlock clattering about in his room. No doubt he was pretending to be a pirate again. I’d caught him pretending the bathtub was a boat the other day”- he pauses, before he adds, “No, I'm sorry, I got that wrong, I meant to say that I’d caught him pretending the bathtub was a _ship_ the other day”-which makes you let out a bit of a chuckle, and he smiles. “But then, half-an-hour or so passed, before it suddenly occurred to me that I could no longer hear him. So I went to see where the little beggar was,” Mycroft says, before he quickly adds at your slightly raised eyebrows, “Sorry, I quite think Gregory’s rubbed off on me,” but that only makes you look more amused. “Anyway, I went to his room,” Mycroft continues, “But he wasn't there, and I was most worried,” he confesses with a bit of a frown. Instinctively you shuffle a bit closer towards him, before you reach out a hand so that you can stroke at one of his. He smiles a little at the gesture. “I quickly saw that his bedroom window was open however, and that there was a tangled up sheet that had been made to look like a rope protruding through it. As I looked at it, it began to move. So I went across to it, and when I peeked out the strangest sight met my eyes. For Sherlock was dangling from it, his eyes wide. We were at our main London home, and he was two storeys up. I told him not to panic and tried not to do so myself,” he goes on, and again you stroke at his hand. “I’ll never quite know how I managed this, because he was wriggling and flailing everywhere, but I managed to pull him up until we were both able to fall back into a heap upon his bedroom floor. Instead of being grateful though he was angry, and he hit me at once. I soon established that he was worried that I was going to tell Mummy and Father. When I said that, that depended on what his purpose had been he’d confessed that he’d just been playing and that it had all gotten out of hand. I told him that since that was the case, and since he was no worse for wear, that I wouldn't have to tell Mummy and Father. That didn't stop him from having nightmares about it for weeks though, and even when I heard him and went to him he wouldn't let me help him. Finally he did. Finally he told me all about it.” Then he swallows and bites at his lip, before he wrinkles his nose up a little as he says, “Sorry, this was supposed to be funny wasn't it?” 

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

“I was initially going to go more into the pirate aspect, but I guess it became more about us instead,” Mycroft admits, before he pauses. “I-I guess I wanted to thank you for letting me in just now, I know that can’t have been easy for you.” All throughout the time he’d been talking you’d slowly been getting closer and closer to each other. “F/N,” he gets out automatically now as your lips begin to part and you begin to tilt your head. Thinking that’s him reminding you about your agreement again you draw back from him with a sigh. But although Mycroft swallows he says, “I think, if, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to hold you tonight,” and you just stare at him. “Would that be all right?” he asks, and you can see that he genuinely wants to, and that he’s not just doing it because he thinks that you want him to. See that he needs some comfort himself, so that he might be able to reassure himself about the incident with Sherlock that he’d just told you about, which seems to have reminded him about how vulnerable his brother can be, along with any worries that he might have concerning both his brother and you for the future.

 

“Okay,” you nod, for not only are you not going to deny him that, but the thought of him holding you appeals to you too, and he nods back at you and swallows for a moment, before he gets to his feet and pushes the chair back to your desk. 

 

He swallows again, before he slips his dressing gown off and lets it hang off the back of the chair. 

 

His fingers uncertainly wriggle as he faces you a moment later, whilst he bites at his lip. You give him the most encouraging smile that you can, before you shift across a little. He nods. Then he strides across as confidently as he can to you, before he pushes the duvet back and slips in beside you. Both of your breaths hitch in your chests when your legs come to brush against each other’s, his bare one against your pyjama clad one, and he clears his throat. 

 

 _“Maybe”-_ he begins, for he suddenly realises that this might not be such a good idea, not when he already feels warm all over just from that one touch. 

 

You roll on your side then, so he rolls onto his instinctively so that he’s facing you. You snuggle up against him, and one of his hands goes to pull you close, whilst your legs become a tangle underneath the duvet. 

 

“Is this all right?” he asks, although he already knows what the answer is if you were to ask him the same question in return. For with your body close and your hair tickling his nose, his own body automatically relaxes against you, and he feels a sense of comfort and security that he hasn't felt in so long. 

 

“Yes,” you breathe a moment later, and as you let out a contented sound and close your eyes he closes his own. 

 

*

 

When you wake you don’t at first remember anything about the night before, _or_ the fact that Mycroft’s in bed beside you. All you know is that you feel very warm and oddly contented, as if all in all you've had a very good night’s sleep. 

 

Then, when you smile a little to yourself, before you stretch a hand out experimentally, you let out a little horrified gasp as it comes into contact with something solid. _Moriarty_ , is whom your mind instantly thinks of, and your eyes quickly open in the next moment as your body surges upwards. 

 

It's not Moriarty however but Mycroft, and he wakes at your gasp, before his own body surges upwards. He manages to stop himself from moving just before the very moment that he would have banged into you. 

 

Your eyes meet and he catches the flicker of fear that you quickly try and cover up. The flicker of fear and regret that tells him that although you did genuinely want last night you now understand that you hadn't been ready for it. 

 

 _“F/N”-_ he begins.

 

“I'm sorry,” you interrupt him quickly, knowing that it’s too late and that he’s seen how you’re feeling. Then you quickly scramble over him, before you slip off the bed into a standing position. 

 

His eyes follow you worriedly, and he quickly feels that he wants to reassure you. But before he can, Molly, no doubt both alarmed and worried because of the male voice that she’d heard coming from your room hurtles inside. She stops dead at the sight of you standing there with your head slightly bowed and your arms hugging your chest, and at the sight of Mycroft still in your bed as he peers around you at her. 

 

He jumps out of bed quickly in the next moment. “Molly,” he cries, his hands fidgeting a little, before they quickly attempt to tug his vest further down over his boxer shorts. “This isn't what it looks like,” he tells her, whilst he awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

 

“I really hope it _is_ what it looks like actually,” Molly says with a bit of a smile. But then when she catches sight of how serious and troubled you look about it all, she asks, “ _F/N?_ Are you all right?” 

 

You give a very unconvincing jerk of your head and keep your gaze locked on the floor. 

 

Mycroft and Molly can tell that you’re not fine, but Mycroft must sense that you need Molly more than you need him right now. So he taps you lightly on the shoulder, murmurs a rather firm, “We’ll talk about this later,” before he makes to go around and leave the room. 

 

He stops just a moment later when you say, “Your dressing gown.”

 

He blushes and then hurriedly makes to grab his dressing gown from the back of the chair. “Excuse me,” he mutters with his head bowed as he goes past Molly on his way out.

 

A silence hangs in the air between Molly and you for a moment. 

 

“He told me a story last night, and all he wanted to do was hold me and I couldn't…I-I felt fine about it until I woke up. Then I just freaked out, and I couldn't bear to be in bed with him for a second longer,” you get out, feeling so stupid. For you’d genuinely felt that you would be okay with such intimacy, and that you were ready for it, ready for more than just Mycroft holding you, ready for him to kiss you again in fact. But now you just feel as if all of last night’s progress has been erased and like you’re a million miles away from the person you want to be. Molly makes a sympathetic noise. “I just don’t understand it,” you go on, “He held me before, at the hotel after he found me, and I had a bit of a nightmare, and _yes_ I panicked when I woke up and didn't realize it was him,” and as you swallow now Molly just moves forwards to hold you, “But I was fine in the morning.”

 

Molly just rocks you in her arms for a moment, whilst she thinks about it all. “It’s bound to come out in different ways even in the same situation, and you’re talking about it more now aren't you? So it’s bound to be something that's even closer to coming out of you then it even normally is”- 

 

“He was right to hold back,” you interrupt her bitterly as the truth dawns on you at last, “I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready to be in a relationship.”

 

*

 

“Blimey, you two don’t waste any time do you?” Gregory asks as he sits by the table with Sherlock when Mycroft, now clad in his dressing gown, walks in. 

 

“Nothing happened,” Mycroft insists, sounding a little annoyed, and both Gregory and Sherlock send a look that’s full of raised eyebrows to one other. “In any case I think that she regrets it,” Mycroft says with a bit of a sigh as he slumps into his seat by the table. 

 

“Well no wonder, any one would be horrified if the first thing they saw in the morning was you,” Sherlock quips, as he spreads some marmalade across his toast. Gregory gives him a warning look. 

 

“It was a mistake, and one that I should never have made,” Mycroft huffs out, his elbows on the table as he buries his head into his hands. For he should have never put his own needs before you. Never have been so selfish. Never have pushed you into doing such a thing. Instead he should have just stuck to his gut instinct and stuck to the agreement that he’d made with you, because friends don’t hold each other in bed. Not even ones who know that they have deeper feelings for each other, and now once again everything is all the more complicated because of his mistake. 

 

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Gregory says, clearly seeing how troubled he is. 

 

Mycroft nods. Then he does so again when Gregory gets up and pats at his shoulder on his way to get ready for university. 

 

Sherlock makes to get up too but-

 

“Everything all right between John and you?” Mycroft asks, feeling like after last night he both wants to make up for the fact that he feels as if he's been neglecting Sherlock lately and reassure himself again, and Sherlock looks back at him from where he’d been pushing his chair back towards the table. 

 

“Why wouldn't it be?” Sherlock asks, his tone defensive, and Mycroft isn't exactly oblivious to the way that his hand tightens around the top of the chair either.

 

 _‘Because you don’t like change and you’re still vulnerable, no matter how much I sometimes forget you are,’_ Mycroft thinks, before he swallows. Then he looks directly into Sherlock’s eyes when he states as casually as he can, “You know Sherlock, I appreciate that my mind’s a little pre-occupied right now”- and Sherlock shifts his position a little uncomfortably-“But I want you to know that the door of my mind is always open to you, if you, well, if you ever wanted to talk or anything.” Sherlock pulls a bit off a face now. “You've never been in a relationship like the one you've got with John before, and I, well, I”- Mycroft breaks off now to brush at his trousers as his gaze falls back down to the table-“I know that it can sometimes be difficult.” He looks up at his brother, an even expression on his face, but Sherlock can see the hope that lurks just beneath his eyes. 

 

Such hope instantly repels him enough to say, “Not everybody’s life is as dramatic as yours Mycroft,” before he looks off to the side and flexes his hand as he says, “Besides, you’re hardly the expert now are you? Being only _‘friends’_ with F/N.”

 

A muscle twitches in Mycroft’s jaw. “Remember what I told you over the summer Sherlock, about being a good friend.”

 

“You meant to F/N, you never said anything about you,” Sherlock huffs out, before he picks up his bag, hooks it over his shoulder and strides out, leaving Mycroft to frown after him.

 

*

 

“You’re in a bad mood,” John observes as soon as he opens the door.

 

Sherlock just shoves his hands into his pockets, whirls around and begins to walk off towards the university. “What are you doing tonight?” he asks as soon as John catches up with him. 

 

John runs a bit of a flustered hand through his hair and just frowns for a moment. “Um, aren’t we supposed to be going out with Molly and the others tonight?” he asks. 

 

“Not any more,” Sherlock announces, and John just looks at him. “Its been cancelled, something about something according to Molly”-

 

“Sherlock, you didn't actually _wipe_ that from your mind did you? It could have been important. Was it something to do with F/N?” John asks, full of both exasperation and concern now. 

 

“It doesn’t matter John,” Sherlock says impatiently, “The point is that I'm coming around to yours tonight and we’re going to have sex.” John stops walking now, so Sherlock turns back to him. “That’s what people do on Friday nights isn't it? Have sex?” 

 

“Is it?” John asks, cocking his head on one side now. “I thought they got drunk and then maybe had sex as a result of that.”

 

“Your diagnosis must be wrong Doctor,” Sherlock says with a bit of a smile as he grabs at his boyfriend’s hand. “Anyway, I don’t much care for the drunk part.”

 

“Mm, _Doctor_ John Watson,” John muses, tilting his head up towards the sky, which is downcast but streaked with light as he momentarily gets caught up in a fantasy where he graduates with honours and goes on to be one of the most respected professionals in the land. Sherlock rolls his eyes and makes to tug him forwards. “Wait,” John says, pulling Sherlock back now and wagging a finger at him, “If _I'm_ a Doctor then you’re going to have to do what I say and listen to me far more.”

 

“You’re not a Doctor yet,” Sherlock says sharply, tugging John forwards and they begin to walk again. 

 

“No, but I will be you git,” John says, pretending to be annoyed and knocking his hip against Sherlock’s. 

 

Sherlock smiles, and the conversation between the two becomes easy and light for the rest of their journey.

 

*

 

Mycroft sighs on his way back down from the university to the house that late afternoon. 

 

He’s found it difficult to concentrate all day, his mind going back to the panicked expression that he’d seen on your face that morning, and he hopes that he might be able to find a quiet moment to talk to you when you’re both out with the others that night. 

 

When he gets back though, far from seeing a group of people milling around the living room as they wait for everyone to gather, there’s just Molly and Gregory, who get up from where they’d been sitting on the settee as soon as they see him. 

 

His face must have changed at seeing just them, for Molly says, “F/N’s upstairs. She’s not feeling very well actually so she won’t be joining us.” A ripple crosses over Mycroft’s face as he interprets her words to mean that rather than being ill you’re just trying to avoid talking to him about what had happened that morning. His face darkens a little as he looks back towards the stairs. Then Molly says, “You haven’t seen either Sherlock or John have you?” and draws his attention back to her. 

 

“No,” he replies, his mind instantly flicking back towards his brother, and he begins to worry about him now. 

 

“They should have been back by now and it’s all rather odd. Neither of them mentioned a thing about not being able to make it,” Molly goes on. 

 

Mycroft thinks on the matter for a moment, his mind going naturally back and forth between his brother and you. Then, once he recalls a little later than he usually would have, about the conversation that he’d had with Sherlock that morning, his face clears. “Ah, I wouldn't worry,” he says, shifting his position, “He’s probably just off somewhere sulking and John’s trying to comfort him.” Such a thought makes him frown. For he’s still not completely used to the thought of his brother having someone else to turn to. Granted John and Sherlock have been friends for a while, but it’s only more recently, and since their relationship has progressed further, that Mycroft’s started to increasingly feel more sidelined in his brother’s life. A thought, which worries him to no end. 

 

“Well, in that case,” Molly begins a little tentatively, disrupting Mycroft’s thoughts once more, “I suppose the three of us could go out.”

 

Mycroft gives a little start then, and he suddenly feels as if he’s properly seeing both Molly and Gregory for the first time since Molly mentioned you not going. Properly seeing Molly’s rather awkward expression and Gregory’s pleading look, which is accompanied by raised eyebrows. His head meanwhile is tilted towards Molly’s. Mycroft’s brow furrows. 

 

Then, as Gregory mouths at him and he properly begins to see Gregory’s meaning at last, he clears his throat and says, “Ah, no, I’ll stay here and see if F/N needs anything. Why don’t you two go out and have a nice time?” 

 

“All right, we will,” Molly says, more firmly as she looks between the two men, whilst a smile grows on her lips, and Mycroft can’t know just how relieved she’s feeling that he’s doing what both she and you had wanted him to. 

 

They leave a moment later after grabbing their coats, and, in Gregory’s case, patting Mycroft encouragingly on the shoulder. 

 

Mycroft moves towards the stairs as soon as they go, feeling determined that now, whilst the house is clear, he’ll talk to you about what had happened that morning. For he’s never going to make more progress with you if he lets you stay in your room and avoid all the important conversations. 

 

Much to his surprise though you come creeping carefully downstairs a moment later. “I'm glad that you didn't go,” is the first thing you tell him when you see that he’s at the bottom of the stairs. Then you make your way further down. 

 

Mycroft reverses a little to accommodate you. “I thought you were avoiding me,” he confesses.

 

You give him a bit of a forced smile, before you shake your head and make to go into the living room. 

 

Mycroft follows you, feeling a little encouraged as he sits down beside you on the settee. But still he feels the need to say, “F/N, I'm sorry about last night, I should never have”-

 

“You’re being sweet again Mycroft,” you tell him, holding up a hand to stop him. Then you swallow, before you open your mouth. 

 

*

 

John pulls back from Sherlock with a smacking sound. “Right, it’s time,” he says, his voice full of determination, and he swings off the bed from where he’d been lying on top of Sherlock as they kissed, before he makes to pull off the khaki green top that he’s wearing. 

 

He barely reveals any more than a slither of his stomach however, before Sherlock says, “John”- just as John knew he would. John transforms his face into a questioning one for Sherlock’s benefit. “I'm not”- Sherlock gets out, before he looks down at the rumpled duvet, “I'm not sure if I can go through with it.”

 

John’s heart sinks. Not because of the slight disappointment that he feels at not having sex, because he’d barely been expecting such a thing anyway, but rather from the way that Sherlock looks so cowed and vulnerable with his head bowed and his fidgety hands. “It’s fine,” he says, tugging down his top and going to sit next to Sherlock on the bed. Sherlock looks at him. “To tell you the truth I wasn't really expecting us to have sex tonight.”

 

“You weren't?” Sherlock questions with his brow slightly furrowed. 

 

“I could tell from the way that you suddenly announced that we were going to that you didn't really want to do it, not for the right reasons anyway,” John says. Then when Sherlock looks amazed at him having seen such a thing John adds, “You could give me some credit y’know, I'm not that dumb. I _am_ training to be a Doctor after all.” Sherlock smiles. “So what happened this morning?” John prompts. 

 

Sherlock kicks out a leg. “It was my stupid brother,” he huffs out, picking at a loose thread. “He seemed to think that there might be something wrong or that I might be finding parts of our relationship difficult, so I wanted”-

 

“You wanted to prove him wrong by having sex,” John fills in. 

 

Sherlock nods, before he growls out, “He’s such an annoying bastard,” as he slams his back against the headboard. “I could see his stupid thought processes and tell he was suggesting that I can’t cope with change. But he couldn't even say it to me. Probably because he knew that if he did he’d be such a hypocrite, though mind you that’s never exactly stopped him in the past”- and as Sherlock’s hand fidgets all the more frantically now with the loose thread John puts his hand on top of it to still it. Sherlock huffs out a breath. “He can’t even make up his mind about whether he wants to be more than friends with F/N or not. He slept with her last night”- John’s mouth opens now-“ _Platonically_ , of course, but friends don’t do that and he knows it. I just wish that they’d make their damn minds up. Then my mind would be able to adjust to whatever they are,” Sherlock says, proving that he can’t cope with change just as much as his brother had thought. “Everyone’s just hovering around each other at the moment and it’s driving me mad. Why can’t people just say what they mean?” he asks, leaning forwards and tugging at his hair with his hands now. 

 

“All right Spock, calm down,” John says, feeling a little alarmed by just how worked up Sherlock is by all of this. 

 

 _“Spock?”_ Sherlock questions, his fingers splayed across his face as he looks sideways at John. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” John says with a bit of a roll of his eyes. 

 

The corner of Sherlock’s lip twitches up. Then he lets out a bit of a sigh, before he wriggles down until his head comes to be resting on John’s lap. “Why can’t everyone be like you John?” Sherlock asks, looking up at him now, and John’s lips part as he begins to feel touched. That is until Sherlock continues, “I always feel like I know where I am with you. Your mind’s so placid, it's barely used, unlike everyone else”- and John takes ‘everyone else’ to mean Sherlock’s brother-“Who has to make everything so complicated.”

 

“You were doing so well,” John says with a bit of a resigned sigh, kneading his hand through Sherlock’s curls now. Sherlock looks down at him. “I thought you were complimenting me.”

 

 _“Oh,”_ Sherlock says, and John snorts a little at his reaction, which soon leads to them both giggling. 

 

*

 

“But really, you have nothing to apologise for,” you say, resting your hand briefly on top of Mycroft’s knee now, before you pull it away again. Mycroft swallows, looking at you intently. Your eyes flick up to him briefly, but then you look more at his thigh as you go on, “I-I wanted to give you that moment last night, and I thought I was ready and it was what I wanted, but I…I'm sorry.”

 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Mycroft says thoughtfully, biting at his lip a little, whilst he wonders, not for the first time that day, how he’s meant to handle all this.

 

“I feel like I'm letting you down all the time,” you sigh, before you look at him as you go on more fervently, “I want to be able to be in a relationship with you. I want to be able to give you as much as you give me. I want to be able to ask for your advice,” and suddenly it’s as if Mycroft can be a hundred per cent sure that you _had_ just been using bowling metaphors to tell him such things last week, and he feels a bit of hope inside himself when he realizes that you can now say such things in a more direct fashion. “I want to give you all of that,” you add, leaving the ‘and so much more,’ unsaid, for neither of you are ready to be making such commitments to each other. 

 

“You’re not letting me down. I just want you to get better,” Mycroft states because he wants to get that point across. Then he looks at you more carefully as he asks, “Do you really want my advice?” for it seems slightly surprising to him that you’d want such a thing when you can’t even let him in all the time, and therefore make him feel capable of giving the best advice to you. You nod, before you swallow when he takes your hand in his and squeezes it tightly in between where you’re both sitting as he says, “In that case I-I think you want too much from yourself too quickly”-

 

“You think I'm being too hard on myself?” you clarify, tilting your head a little. 

 

He nods. Then he brushes his free hand quickly back through his hair and swallows, before he pulls a bit of a face as he says, “I suppose a better way of saying it would be that I think you’re trying to run, before you can walk,” and he gives you a bit of a tense smile now as he squeezes at your hand. Then he lets go of you. 

 

“So what would you do?” 

 

“Be kind,” Mycroft says promptly, before he tilts his head and purses his lips. “To others but mostly to yourself.”

 

You smile a little, thinking that, that’s probably worthy advice. “Thank you,” you breathe, before, as a natural pause follows, you suddenly aren't sure what to do with your hands. In the end you lean back a little, before you pick at the material of your trousers. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Mycroft finally replies; before he swallows as he looks back at you. For suddenly with your fidgeting hands and your slightly uncertain expression all he wants to do is put a hand on your cheek, make you still and kiss you. He swallows again and eyes you for another moment. Your eyes keep flickering back and forth to him, and although common sense prevails in his head enough to tell him that he can’t kiss you right now, he thinks that leaning back, just so that he could stare at you some more would be all right. For like you’d said before when you were friends previously you’d touched each other’s hands and sat close together on the settee, and he can’t see how even last night would have changed you wanting to do such things. So tentatively he leans back himself. 

 

Suddenly you feel that odd sort of panic that you’d felt this morning grip you again, and you start a little, before you jump up. “I think I’ll go to bed now, get an early night.”

 

Mycroft nods, and you give him a flustered sort of smile, before you hurry out of the room. 

 

As soon as you go Mycroft can feel something crumbling inside himself. Crumbling inside himself because of his anger, confusion and disappointment. He feels angry with himself for having to go and spoil the nice moment that you’d been having, confused because of how he’d wanted more from that moment in the first place, and disappointment of course from _not_ having more. He sighs. Then, knowing who he wants to hear from right then, he pulls out his phone automatically and calls home. 

 

“Hello?” comes a voice, and Mycroft feels grateful when it’s Father’s and not Mummy’s. 

 

“Father”- Mycroft gets out in a gasp, the cork of his emotion popping with just that one word. 

 

“Ah Mycroft, how are you? Your mother’s just making a pot of tea, but I'm sure she’ll be in, in a minute and that she’ll be glad to have the chance to speak with you,” Father says, clearly having no idea yet just how emotional his son is feeling. 

 

But suddenly, at the sound of his father’s familiar firm but gentle tone, speaking is the last thing that Mycroft feels able to do. 

 

 _“Mycroft?”_ his father prompts, beginning to sound concerned now. 

 

Mycroft just lets out a bit of a choked gasp, whilst he inwardly curses himself. 

 

“Mycroft? Mycroft what is it?” his father asks, and in Mycroft’s head he can see him getting to his feet now. 

 

“I-I'm weak Father,” Mycroft manages to get out, bending in on himself, and feeling all the weaker when tears begin to roll down his face. He tries to suppress them. 

 

“No you’re not,” Father’s insistent voice comes, before he asks in a rush just a moment later, “What’s going on? Where are all your housemates? Your brother?” 

 

“They’re out,” Mycroft says, before he says even more thickly, “F/N’s upstairs.”

 

There comes a pause. No doubt things are starting to become clearer for Father. “How are things going with her? Has she been going to see Dr. Magnussen?” he asks.

 

“Yes, but I'm so confused Father, I don’t understand myself, I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” Mycroft confesses, leaning back a little now and swiping at his eyes, before he bends back down again. “I-well, we agreed to just try and be friends, a-and last week we had a bit of a-well not an argument exactly”-

 

“A difficulty?” Father prompts him gently. 

 

“Yes, a difficulty,” Mycroft agrees, sniffing and clearing his throat a little, “A-And anyway she seemed to want to break our agreement, but we didn't. Today though she seems to have come to realize that it’s right for us to just be friends, and I, well I”-

 

“You want more?” 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft blurts out, before he swallows, “And it’s so annoying because I felt like I had everything clear in my head, everything clear about us just being friends, and then like I updated my thoughts after last week to make them remain clear. But now, today, I-I know that I should be glad that she’s now in agreement with me, that we’re both on the same page, but I'm not. For a moment I even wanted to kiss her when I should have just been satisfied with the fact that she was agreeing with me. What’s going on? Is it just me being weak?” 

 

There’s a slight pause, before Father’s voice gently says, “You’re not weak Mycroft. You’re human, and I think, if anything, love’s going on with you. As painful and frustrating as it might be for you, it’s exactly _because_ of love that things won’t always be able to make sense. But let me ask you something. If F/N had just come up to you and said what you've just told me right now, what advice would you have given her?” 

 

Mycroft swallows. “I told her to be kind to herself and others tonight,” he confesses with a bit of a hopeless shrug, as if he doesn’t see what use that is to him. 

 

“Then I think you should follow that advice yourself,” Father says, but Mycroft barely hears him, for at the same time a voice says, “You should follow that, it’s good advice,” and he makes a bit of a choked sound in his throat when he lifts his head to see that you’re standing there. He lays the phone instinctively down on the settee. 

 

You send him a bit of a cautious look, before you lean forwards to pick up the phone. 

 

 _“Mycroft?”_ you hear Mr. Holmes asking concernedly, clearly wondering what on earth’s going on. 

 

“It’s all right Mr. Holmes, I’ve got him,” you say, taking a bit of a deep breath.

 

“Thank you F/N,” is all you hear, before you swallow and disconnect the call. 

 

You place the phone down on the coffee table. 

 

“Sorry,” Mycroft chokes, gesturing to the tears on his face and clearly feeling embarrassed as you sit down beside him. But then it’s like the moment that you do so he can control himself even less, and as wracking sobs begin to leave his lips he seeks comfort from you, instinctively leaning forwards to hug you. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he gets out, with his head down by your shoulder, “I don’t understand why I can’t just be fine with what we spoke about.” 

 

A little breath escapes your lips. But then you get a hold of your own emotion, which is both a combination of your own sadness, fear at seeing him this way, a little tension at having him hug you so unexpectedly and apprehension because you know that you have to be the strong one now, before you hug him back tightly. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, things don’t always have to make sense.” Mycroft just cries even harder. “I love you,” you murmur, “I love you.” Mycroft sniffs, clearly trying to get a hold of himself now, but it’s like no matter how hard he wants to he just can’t. “I promise that one day I’ll be able to give you what you need, I swear I will, can you just hang on until whenever that might be?” you ask, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your hands both cupping and stroking at his hair. 

 

“You know I will, I’ve told you I will,” Mycroft sniffs, pulling back from you. 

 

His face is flushed and his eyes are swimming with tears and you feel so much love for him in that moment that you just lean forwards and hold onto him all the more tightly. 

 

Then, when you finally pull away from each other you encourage him to lie down on the settee, whilst you sit on the floor beside him, stroking at his hair and toying with his fingers as he stares at you hazily all the time. Finally he falls asleep. 

 

Your hands still, clutching onto the tips of his fingers for a brief moment more, before you let go of him completely so that you won’t disturb him. 

 

You’re still sitting there on the floor beside him by the time that Greg and Molly return. You’re a little worried that they’ll disturb Mycroft, especially when you hear them giggling, but they go straight upstairs, completely oblivious to your silent vigil. Mycroft stirs for a moment, shifting his shoulders, before he mumbles out your name as he sleeps. 

 

“I'm here,” you tell him softly with a small smile, before you shift your own position and go back to watching him quietly. As you do so you think once more upon what had happened earlier and dream of the day when there’ll be no more pain. Dream of the day when you’ll be able to make the beautiful man in front of you completely happy.

 

Sherlock must sense that something’s different upon his return however, and that not everyone’s where they’re supposed to be, or perhaps it just feels natural for him to check all of the rooms now, just in case you've had another nightmare. Whatever the case though he steps inside the living room. 

 

You look across, before you stand up when you catch sight of the puzzled expression that’s on his face and take a couple of steps forwards. “He fell asleep, I couldn't exactly move him so”- you break off with a shrug. 

 

Sherlock nods, before he looks studiously in between you both, no doubt trying to see what’s passed between you. Then he leaves the room. 

 

You let out a little breath. Then you return to sit next to Mycroft, feeling glad when you see that neither you nor Sherlock have disturbed him. 

 

*

 

“What do you mean he was upset?” Violet Holmes asks once Edwin’s started to give her a rough account of the phone call he’d had with Mycroft. 

 

Edwin sets his tea down beside him on the side table, shrugs a bit and leans back in his chair. “I just mean that he’d clearly got himself worked up about things. I'm sure that it’s nothing to worry about.”

 

Violet bites at her lip from where she’s sitting opposite him and looks around distractedly for a moment. “Yes, I suppose he’s always been a bit of a worrier,” she concludes, clearly trying to make herself feel better as she looks at him. 

 

“In any case,” Edwin goes on, “F/N came then”-

 

Violet interrupts him with a disparaging snort. 

 

“You might well do that,” Edwin continues with a bit of a frown, “But right at this very moment that girl’s taken it upon herself to look after our son. So you could give her a bit of credit.”

 

“Looking after him? Is _that_ what they’re calling it these days?” Violet tuts, and she looks away from him now. 

 

“Oh Violet,” Edwin frowns, “Our son’s sensible, and from what I saw of F/N she is too. Besides, the boy was just crying, so I'm sure that they’re hardly gong to be rolling around in bed together”-

 

“ _Crying?_ You never said that he was _crying_ Edwin,” Violet exclaims reproachfully, sliding to the edge of her seat now and looking anxious. “Maybe I should phone him,” she muses, reaching her hand towards the telephone. 

 

Edwin gets up and crosses over to her in two swift steps, before he comes to rest his hand over hers on top of the telephone. “Leave it,” he tells her. 

 

_“But”-_

 

“Just for once, let someone else look after him,” Edwin tells her. 

 

Violet looks like she might protest some more. But finally she huffs out a breath, withdraws her hand and leans back resignedly in her chair. 

 

Edwin lets out a sigh of relief, before he smiles a little wearily. Then he pats reassuringly at her hand, before he goes to sit back down. “I know you don’t think that she’s good enough for our boy”-

 

“I don’t like her and I don’t trust her,” Mummy interjects, turning her gaze sideways to the phone.

 

“But whatever comes out of their relationship this is part of him growing up and part of him becoming a man. I think if you give her a chance, a _proper_ chance Violet, she might just surprise you,” Edwin goes on, and Violet shoots him a disbelieving look. “I know why you really don’t like her,” Edwin sighs a little. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Violet says, looking away from her husband now and ignoring the knowing look that he gives her in favour of drinking her tea. 

 

*

 

 _“F/N?”_ Mycroft asks, wonder filling his voice when he wakes that morning to find that you’re slumped asleep beside him, your chin resting on the edge of the settee.

 

Your body begins to stir into consciousness at his voice. Then your eyes flutter open, and you give him a small, lazy kind of smile. 

 

As soon as he sees you arch your back and stretch a little though he can tell that you’re stiff. So he turns slightly and sits up a little more as he says, “You didn't have to stay with me like that, not when it makes you uncomfortable,” and he says such words in a voice that’s both full of embarrassment and gratitude. 

 

“You would have done the same for me,” you smile, standing up and offering him your hand. 

 

His face falls into a smile. Then he takes your hand and allows you to help pull him up. “Thank you,” he says. 

 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, before you lead the way into the kitchen. Mycroft swipes up his phone off the coffee table and slides it into his pocket, before he follows you. 

 

“What’s it today? Friends? Lovers? _Enemies_?” Sherlock quips as soon as the pair of you walk in. 

 

Greg and Molly are sat around the table too, but their reaction is much warmer, and they smile at you both, looking like they must have had a good date last night. 

 

You blush at Sherlock’s comment. Then you make to go across to the table, but Mycroft tugs you on the arm, holding you back. You look at him. 

 

He lets go of you a moment later. Then he brushes past you on his way to the table. You stare after him for a moment feeling confused, before you follow him. 

 

Mycroft sits down at the table and casts his brother a rather appraising look, before he reaches for the box of cereal. “I see you’re yet to lose your virginity,” he says, and your eyes widen in astonishment as you sit down beside him. 

 

Greg meanwhile nearly chokes on his cereal, whilst Molly clasps a hand to her mouth. 

 

“Well, you’re hardly making leaps and bounds in that area either, are you brother? Unless something happened between F/N and you last night that neither of you are telling us about,” Sherlock retorts crisply, and you duck your head down with a blush on your face, whilst a muscle twitches in Mycroft’s jaw. 

 

“Nothing happened, and in any case it’s not a competition,” Mycroft says, reaching for the milk jug after he’s poured his cereal, and you nudge it towards him tentatively. “Thank you F/N,” Mycroft tells you with an approving look on his face, and his voice suddenly becomes a lot more gentlemanly. 

 

“Thank you F/N,” Sherlock mimics in a silly voice, and Molly lets out a spluttering kind of laugh at how daft he’s being.

 

“Don’t be smart,” Mycroft warns him, pushing the milk jug back now and picking up his spoon. 

 

“Oh no, we wouldn't want that would we? Me being smart?” Sherlock exclaims, and a layer of tension seems to suddenly envelop everyone. Sherlock leans back and gives his brother a sort of pointed look. 

 

“I think you could benefit from a phone call to Mummy”- Mycroft begins, adopting a similar pose to that of his brother. 

 

“Why? Becoming too unmanageable for you am I?” Sherlock retorts, before he turns to you and says, “See F/N, this is what happens, he’ll do his best with you for a while. Then, when things get a little tough he’ll step back and try and wash his hands of you”-

 

“That’s enough,” Mycroft warns, before he turns to you and says, “He’s not talking about me F/N. He’s talking about how he felt when he thought I’d be leaving him stuck at home with Mummy and Father, whilst I was off at university. That’s why he was so desperate to follow me here and start his course early, he couldn't _bear_ to be alone”- 

 

“Oh don’t bother trying to ridicule me brother, I'm going,” Sherlock says, getting to his feet now. 

 

“Where?” Mycroft asks. 

 

 _“Out,”_ Sherlock growls, clearly irritated. 

 

He makes to stride towards the door but-

 

“Sherlock?” Mycroft calls after him. 

 

 _“What?”_ Sherlock asks, whirling around. 

 

“I wouldn't bother taking protection with you. I don’t think you’re going to get that far,” Mycroft says sardonically and Molly lets out a little gasp, whilst Greg snorts. 

 

Sherlock however just gives his brother the finger, before he whirls around and strides out. 

 

Mycroft chuckles a little to himself and goes back to his cereal, missing the reproachful look that you’re giving him altogether, whilst you nibble on your toast. 

 

Greg however doesn’t. “I wouldn't worry about it F/N,” he says with a wave of his hand. 

 

You look towards him, just as Mycroft becomes more aware of what’s going on and looks back up at you. “Is that just a sibling thing?” you ask. 

 

Greg pulls a bit of a face as he considers your question. 

 

But Mycroft gets there first with the answer, “No, it’s just a _Holmes_ thing.”

 

You turn your head to look at him, and your heart instantly gives a little flip in your chest when you see how amused and happy he looks. In fact he looks completely refreshed compared to how he’d looked last night, and wanting him to know such a thing and know that you’re happy because of it, you tell him, “You seem better,” whilst you put your hand on top of his upon the table and nearly forget about Greg and Molly’s presence entirely. You have no idea of how much they’re both trying not to breathe so that they can blend into the background right now. 

 

Mycroft opens his mouth-

 

“Maybe you should put my brother to bed more often F/N,” Sherlock quips, coming back into the room now with a teasing expression on his face. 

 

“I thought you’d left,” Mycroft says a little testily, and you draw your hand away from his. 

 

“No you didn't”-

 

“Because I didn't hear the front door slam,” Mycroft concludes and Sherlock nods. 

 

“Anyway, I wasn't going to let you have the last word,” Sherlock confesses.

 

“Heaven forbid,” Mycroft replies just as Sherlock swaggers back to the table so that he can steal an orange. “You wouldn't need that if you’d just finished off your breakfast in the first place,” Mycroft tells him. 

 

Sherlock just rolls his eyes at his brother being so motherly. Then he begins to peel the orange with his fingers, deliberately dropping the bits of skin close to his brother’s cereal bowl as he does so. 

 

Mycroft huffs out a bit of a breath and gives his brother a slightly pointed look in return to the teasing one that he’s being given. Then he abandons his spoon in his cereal bowl and begins to gather the bits of orange peel into a neat and orderly pile. Sherlock destroys said pile a moment later when he sweeps it off the table with his hand. 

 

 _“Sherlock!”_ Mycroft complains. 

 

“See you later brother,” Sherlock just smiles, before he strides out of the room. 

 

You hear the front door slam a moment later. 

 

Mycroft’s shaking his head, whilst he looks down despairingly at the bits of orange peel, which are now scattered across the floor. 

 

The sight both makes you smile and want to help him. So you stand, before you crouch down and make to gather up all the bits of orange peel in between your hands. 

 

Greg and Molly exchange a smile, before they get up and make to silently leave the room. 

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Mycroft says.

 

“I think I'm beginning to get how this works,” you say lightly now.

 

“Hmm?” Mycroft asks, because he’s pretty sure that you’re not talking about the orange peel.

 

“You and your brother,” you say, sweeping the orange peel forwards now in between your cupped hands. “I mean I thought I got it,” you continue, standing up and taking the orange peel over to the bin. “I got that you do most of your communication through bickering, especially after the summer”- and you break off a little awkwardly now, clearing your throat as you let the lid of the bin fall shut. You wash your hands, before you wipe them against your jeans as you turn back to him. “But after this morning I think I get it even more. What you both said had the potential to hurt each other”- Mycroft shifts his position a little uncomfortably now as he studies you, clearly wondering if you’re going to berate him for such a thing as he does so-“But you both barely batted an eyelid and acted as if it was completely normal.”

 

 _“Ah,”_ Mycroft says, still looking uncomfortable. 

 

You just smile. Then you tell him, “In Holmes language I think that’s how you tell someone you love them,” and Mycroft’s eyes widen a fraction, which causes you to just smile at him some more. 

 

Mycroft doesn’t know what to say for a moment. But he does know that he can feel the mood softening and becoming pleasanter between you and that he wants to appreciate it. Wants to appreciate this one moment of peace where his mind is unusually calm, and appreciate the way that he can feel a ripple in his stomach at you looking at him so softly. But before he can truly do so, or anything else can happen, his phone rings. 

 

He lets out a bit of a sigh, whilst the smile that’s on your face grows less and less until it becomes nothing. 

 

“Hello?” he says as he answers his phone. 

 

“Oh Mykie, I am so glad you picked up,” comes his mother’s voice, and Mycroft forces a smile onto his face and gives you a terse kind of nod when you give him a brief pat on the shoulder on your way out of the room. “I was worried after last night. Your father said that you were upset”-

 

“I'm fine Mummy,” Mycroft interrupts, feeling embarrassed about how he’d broken down so completely and wanting to forget that aspect of things, though not of course the pure comfort you’d given him.

 

“Don’t give me that Mykie,” Mummy rebuffs him, before she goes on, “Now, if it’s about that girl again”-

 

“Honestly Mummy, everything’s fine,” Mycroft lies, for though he feels a little better from having got out some of his emotion the night before he still knows that things won’t feel properly right until he can be with you completely and until he has the firm knowledge that you've managed to recover from what you've been through. 

 

“Well, perhaps you better let me speak to her if you won’t address the issue with me yourself,” Mummy tells him firmly. 

 

 _“Mummy,”_ Mycroft protests. 

 

“No Mykie, I mean it,” she says, before she muses, “In actual fact it might be good for me to speak to her in any case”-

 

“I can talk to you about it”-

 

“No Mycroft. Where is she? Let me speak to her,” Mummy persists. 

 

There’s a pause. Then, when Mycroft becomes aware that Mummy’s not going to budge on this he says, “I’ll go and find her, hang on,” in a resigned fashion, before he slumps a little as he draws the phone down from his ear. 

 

He goes to the living room then, thinking that you might be there, but it’s just Molly doing some early weekend reading. 

 

She waves at him and he nods quickly at her, before he turns out of the room and moves upstairs. 

 

He knocks on your door. 

 

You open it curiously a moment later, and your face brightens upon seeing him, before your mouth opens. Before you can say anything though Mycroft puts a finger to his lips, and your mouth falls shut a moment later, whilst you send him a curious look. 

 

Seeing that you've got the message Mycroft lets out a bit of a breath, before he raises his phone to his ear again. “She’s here now Mummy,” he says a little hesitantly, warning you about who’s on the other end at the same time, and a ripple of emotion crosses your face. For after what had happened over the summer Mrs. Holmes is the last person you want to talk to, and not only does the thought of doing so make you feel both tense and apprehensive, but you can’t help but wonder why Mycroft, who knows only too well of course that your relationship with his mother is hardly the best, hasn't tried to protect you from having to go through such a thing. 

 

You have little time to object or do anything right then however because he hands the phone to you. 

 

“Hello?” you say, before you swallow and brace yourself as you turn around and make your way back your bed, sitting down upon it with a soft thump. Mycroft watches you uncertainly from the doorway. 

 

His hovering only makes you feel uneasier though, so you nod at him, before you point at the chair that’s by your desk. Mycroft shuffles across to sit on it a moment later. 

 

“Ah yes,” Mrs. Holmes’s voice comes, making you start. “I am glad to get this chance to have a little chat with you dear.”

 

“Mrs. Holmes,” you say, before you swallow. “It’s nice to get to talk to you too,” and Mycroft opens his mouth a little because you look like you’re on the phone to a dragon. 

 

“Is he there?” Mrs. Holmes begins, no doubt sensing from your forced politeness that her son’s nearby, “Get rid of him if he is. I just want to talk to you woman to woman for a moment,” and you swallow, before you gesture that Mycroft should leave the room. You feel guilty as soon as you do so however because you know that he’s just going to take it as you shutting him out again, something, which seems to be confirmed by the fact that he sends you a reproachful look, before he gets up.

 

Then, once he’s gone you ask, “What did you want to talk to me about Mrs. Holmes?” 

 

“I wanted to warn you”-

 

“ _Warn_ me?” you interject without being able to help yourself, and your hands begin to feel clammy now. 

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Holmes begins curtly, “Because if I ever, and I mean ever, find out that you've taken advantage of my son at a time when he was upset and at his most vulnerable then I don’t care how he feels for you, I will be down at that university of yours and I will make sure that you never even feel the urge to go near him. Do I make myself clear?” 

 

As her words had gone on you’d grown both more scared and more incensed by them, and by the time she finishes your body is shaking from it all. “Yes Mrs. Holmes,” is all you can get out. But then something comes over you, and you can’t stop yourself from saying, “For the record though I didn't take advantage of Mycroft last night and I have absolutely no intention of doing so in the future. He’s been kind to me and I was just trying to be kind to him back, and if that upsets you then I'm sorry but I don’t think that I'm the one with the problem here.”

 

“You insolent”- she begins, but you disconnect the call, before she can go on. 

 

For a moment you just sit there, one of your knees drawn towards your chest with your body almost partly curled over it, whilst you squeeze the phone tightly in one hand. 

 

You still feel mad when you get up a moment later though, before you stride downstairs, barge into Mycroft’s room and place his phone down in front of him on his desk. 

 

 _“F/N?”_ he utters, closing the book that he’d been attempting to read, although in actual fact he’d barely read more of a sentence of it since all his mind had been able to focus on was the phone call upstairs. 

 

“Your mother hates me, and I wish that you’d never made me speak to her in the first place. Surely you knew that she’d have nothing good to say to me?” you get out, feeling like you've had your earlier fears confirmed as you withdraw your hand and take a couple of steps back. 

 

“Well I wish that you hadn't wanted me to leave and that you’d stop shutting me out,” Mycroft retorts, feeling instantly hurt by your behaviour, especially after last night, and his body stiffens as he stares down at his phone rather than look at you. 

 

“I'm not shutting you out. _Your_ mother wanted me to make you leave,” you respond, feeling all the more irritated now. 

 

“Why would she do that?” Mycroft asks, turning around in his chair to look at you, and there’s something suspicious lurking beneath his features as he chooses to add, “I couldn't even _hear_ her part of the conversation.”

 

“I don’t know,” you say, before you just stare at him. But then, when you realise how heated your voice had come out, you run a frustrated hand back through your hair, before you fold your arms and say, “Maybe so that we’d end up doing this,” and your face is strained and regretful now, and you can feel the tears wavering in your eyes. 

 

Mycroft swallows. “What did she say to you?” he asks. 

 

You open your mouth, about to tell him, but then his phone rings again. As soon as it does you feel another bite of anger, and you say, “That’ll be her, ringing to complain about me. Don’t make me talk to her,” without being able to help it, before you leave the room. 

 

Mycroft stares after you, his mouth opening as he does so. Then he swings back around to his desk and picks up his phone with a sigh. 

 

*

 

“F/N is everything all right?” Molly asks, coming into the dining room just as you leave Mycroft’s bedroom. 

 

You shake your head and shove your hands into your pockets, whilst you still feel irritated about everything. 

 

“Do you want to go out for a walk?” she asks. 

 

You nod, and the pair of you leave the house a moment later. You walk in silence for a while, walking away from the university for a change and just down various streets. 

 

“So what”- Molly begins. 

 

“Mycroft’s mother hates me. He’s on the phone to her right now and I'm pretty sure that when he gets off he’s going to be annoyed with me too.” 

 

 _“Why?”_

 

“I was rude to her,” you confess, before you let out a bit of a regretful sigh. 

 

“Oh _F/N,”_ Molly begins a little despairingly. 

 

“I know,” you growl out, “But I couldn't help it,” and the both of you come to a stop now, facing each other by the entrance of a park, whilst your hair blows a little in the breeze. “Mycroft, he, well, he got a little upset about everything last night and I was trying to comfort him. That’s how he ended up sleeping on the settee with me crouching beside him. But she was acting like I’d taken advantage of him.”

 

“Still, you must know that being rude to her won’t help,” she points out, and though you know that she’s right and that she’s only saying what you’re thinking, the issue's too much of a sore one right now for you to do anything other than huff out a breath, turn around and walk away from her. _“F/N?”_ she calls after you. 

 

“I’ll see you back at the house,” you call over your shoulder at her, just wanting to be alone. 

 

*

 

Mycroft’s just left the house on his way to find you when he spots John hovering uncertainly outside. 

 

He stops, and faces a brief moment of indecision, before, making his mind up, he goes across to him. “Ah John,” he says. 

 

“Hey,” John says with a bit of a nod at him, before his eyes flick instinctively towards the house again. 

 

“Waiting for Sherlock?” Mycroft asks. 

 

“Yeah, we were going to go into town, but Sherlock wanted to get something first.”

 

Mycroft nods consideringly. Then he shifts his position again as he wonders if he should say what he really wants to. 

 

“Um, you up to anything nice today?” John asks, distracting Mycroft from his thoughts. 

 

Mycroft shifts his position, before he confesses, “Oh, I was just about to go and find F/N actually,” and there’s a brief awkward pause now as John nods. Then Mycroft goes on, “But whilst you’re here and my brother’s”- and now he peers back to the house, before he looks back at John again and concludes-“ _Not._ Perhaps I could have a quick word with you?” 

 

John looks both a little startled and uncomfortable at that. “Um, yeah, sure,” he says. 

 

Mycroft nods and runs his tongue consideringly across his lips. “The thing is, John, it's apparent to me”- he says, and he shifts his position again-“That my brother can sometimes act rashly. I'm sure even you've noticed such a thing?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah, I have,” John nods, “Though I wish that both of you would stop implying that I'm stupid.” 

 

“Sorry,” Mycroft swallows. “But the thing that most concerns me is what he’s liable to do when such moments strike,” and it’s John’s turn to swallow now. “Recently, well this morning in fact, its come to my attention that he might be likely to want to, well, um, shall we say, develop things with you on a more physical level during such moments.” John blushes now, whilst Mycroft gives him a bit of an awkward smile.

 

“He tried to last night, but he soon stopped,” John gets out, confessing such a thing quickly so that he might be able to secure the end of this conversation more rapidly. 

 

Mycroft nods. “The thing that worries me is what might have happened if he _hadn't_ ,” he says delicately, and John blushes now. “My brother’s vulnerable, he’s not one to adapt quickly to change, and I fear that he’s already struggling enough in this rather peculiar relationship between the pair of you to ever feel comfortable if you were to advance it now. I wouldn't wish him for him to regret anything you see, or, for things, to become more complicated.”

 

“I don’t wish that either,” John nods steadily, “But whilst we’re talking I think there’s a few things that _you_ could do with hearing too actually,” and he shifts his position, readying himself now. 

 

 _“Oh?”_ Mycroft asks, feeling surprised. 

 

“Yeah,” John breathes, “Because I think Sherlock’s adapting to this relationship better than you think. If anything I think it’s _your_ relationship with F/N that’s causing him more of a problem”-

 

“ _My_ relationship with F/N?” Mycroft asks, his brow furrowing.

 

“Yeah,” John nods, before he confesses, “He basically said last night that he finds the fact that the status of your relationship with her keeps changing confusing,” and Mycroft’s eyebrows rise slightly now, “So maybe, and I don’t want to get at you here Mycroft, but maybe _you’re_ the one who needs to think about what you’re doing to your little brother. Not me,” John finishes and Mycroft swallows now, the words feeling like a blow to him.

 

Then he bites at his lip for a moment, before he nods at John and says, “Indeed, well, thank you for sharing that with me. I will most certainly keep that in mind, but I’d appreciate it if you could do the same with what I’ve just told you.” John nods. “Very well,” Mycroft says, before he goes on his way again.

 

John’s words rotate through his mind as he goes, and he can’t help but again feel a little sad that John’s becoming his brother’s confidante, even when such matters concern him. Can't help but again feel a little sad that his brother seems to be slipping away from him. Whilst he also can’t help but think that his brother must be even more vulnerable than he’d given him credit for-a thought, which concerns him greatly-if he’s liable to get worked up over the relationships of others so quickly. Mind you, Mycroft thinks, he can’t exactly talk or accuse Sherlock of being overly-emotional, not after the way that he’d broken down himself last night, and his thoughts go back to you now as he spots you in the park.

 

*

 

You’re sitting on one of the benches inside the park, feeling cold, hungry and still annoyed with yourself for incensing the whole situation with Mycroft’s mother, when someone sits beside you with a small thump. 

 

You turn your head, and you feel both surprised and immediately defensive when you see that it’s Mycroft, wrapped up warm in his long, dark coat and with a black and white scarf around his neck. 

 

“Molly said that you were in this general area when you left each other,” he explains, looking at you now with both something soft and calculating in his face. 

 

“Yeah? Well if you've come to tell me off for being rude to your mother then I wouldn't bother. My thoughts and Molly have pretty much done that for you.” 

 

To your surprise Mycroft, rather than letting out a sigh, lets out a soft chuckle. You look at him suspiciously. “You remind me so much of my brother sometimes,” he explains, taking your hand in his and holding it to his leg, before he rubs it a little in an attempt to warm it. You look at him with your face slightly cleared but still reproachful. “The way you were acting so defensive just now? The way you couldn't stop going to the lake over the summer even though I told you not to? Those were exactly things, which my brother would have done.”

 

You smile in spite of yourself. “Yeah? Well as long as we don’t have to argue just to tell each other that we love each other,” you get out, before you look away with a bit of a blush on your face once you realize what you've just said. 

 

Mycroft lets out another fond chuckle. “I _do_ love you,” he says, squeezing at your hand, and you look back at him a little tentatively, before you look out across at the grass of the park. “I wasn't happy about you being rude to my mother, that’s true,” Mycroft says, staring at your hand, “But I do love you, and I want you to know that I was very… _touched_ , by what you did for me last night. You were, you were there for me F/N, and I appreciate that.” 

 

You feel both warm and like you might cry because of his words for a moment. But instead of doing so you just rest your head down against his shoulder. 

 

“What are we?” he asks, letting go of you now so that he can draw you close with his hand instead, and there’s a trace of both curiosity and fear in his words. For after last night he thinks that he knows, but he wants to make sure that he's got things as clear in his head as they can be again. 

 

You can feel his apprehension as you just think about it all for a moment. As you try and decipher what you are, and as you do so you feel like you’re standing on your tiptoes and trying to catch a feather. But in the end, as you lift your head up from his shoulder, you have no other answer than, “ _Us_. I think we’re us.” 

 

Mycroft peers down at you for a moment, feeling surprised by your answer, and his lips part slightly, whilst his blue eyes study you. Then, slowly, because he comes to find that he likes that answer, his face crinkles into a smile, and he lets out a little breath as he turns his head away from you again. 

 

“Is that enough for you?” you ask, looking up at him, whilst you squeeze his arm and suddenly feel a little anxious. 

 

“Yes,” he breathes as he peers down at you again. “I think it is.”

 

You look at each other; your face coming up to be even with his now, and there’s that tension between you again. That tension that could easily turn into a kiss. But you've both decided to stay in this in between zone for now, so you merely let out a little breath, before you rest your head down against his shoulder again. 

 

*

 

It feels like a whole lifetime has past between your last visit to Dr. Magnussen and this one. But though so much has happened there’s one thing that you feel resolute about, and that’s your feelings for Mycroft. For no matter what Magnussen says or thinks, if the last week has shown you anything at all then it’s shown you that this path you've set out on is the right one and that Mycroft and you are meant to be together. For you’re an unit. A not quite cohesive one that’s for sure, and one that’s still adjusting and learning to be around each other, but an unit all the same, and walking into Dr. Magnussen’s consulting room you feel the most confident that you ever have about that fact. 

 

“Did you think about what we discussed last week? About my concerns for you?” Magnussen asks as soon as you sit down opposite each other. 

 

“Yes I did,” you nod, “But as much as I appreciate your concern and understand why you said it, I’ve decided to carry on with the way things are.”

 

“With the promise of this relationship once you’re better?” Magnussen attempts to clarify. You nod. Magnussen does not look pleased. He huffs out a bit of a breath and crosses his ankles, before he leans back further into his chair. “Perhaps I should put it another way then?”-

 

 _“I”-_ you get out uncertainly, beginning to feel a little alarmed, because why is he pushing the issue so much?

 

“I just want to make sure that things are clear for you, so that you can be certain that you’re making the right choice,” Magnussen says, as if he’s doing you a favour now. You nod. “I'm going to be honest F/N, the way it looks to me is that, at the moment, you’re just trapped in a vicious circle, trapped because you’re letting yourself be controlled by another man”-

 

“Mycroft’s not Moriarty,” you begin, feeling horrified by the comparison. 

 

“Ah, but Moriarty was your friend once wasn't he? Your _best_ friend? Surely you felt as close to him at one point as you now seem to think that you feel to this Mycroft?”-

 

“I-I”- you begin, your brain working more quickly than the rate at which you can speak. “I don’t remember saying that to you Dr. Magnussen,” you continue, pressing back a little in your chair now, because for the first time since you’d started these sessions you feel scared, not because of what they might do to you emotionally, but because of the man in front of you. 

 

A ripple of something crosses over Magnussen’s face, and for a moment it’s like you see a flash of somebody else’s features behind them. Someone familiar. _Moriarty._ It smoothes over so fast that you begin to wonder if you’d imagined it when Magnussen says, “Of course you did. You said so in the very first session we had together.”

 

You just open and close your mouth for a moment. Then somehow you manage to get out, “I remember saying he was my friend, not my”- before you break off when Magnussen waves a hand. 

 

“I could tell, of course, from the feeling behind your words that you both used to be very close, and that you’d been all the more affected by what he’d subjected you to because of such close proximity”-

 

“Mycroft’s not like that,” you insist, your voice growing louder, and as your mind recalls memories of the past week-Mycroft saying how he only wants to help you, Mycroft telling you the story about his brother and seeking your reassurance, Mycroft getting so upset and Mycroft being so sweet to you in the park despite the fact that you’d just been rude to his mother-you get to your feet, “He would _never_ ”-

 

“Has he never once tried to control you? Have you never felt like he was doing such a thing?” Magnussen asks in a voice that’s both somehow fervent and calm, and the only real show of his agitation is the fact that he’s now leaning forwards slightly. 

 

 _“No”-_ you begin, more desperately as you take half-a-step forwards; before you feel like something hits you in the chest and you have to stop, have to break off. 

 

“What is it?” Magnussen asks, a gleam of something shining in his eyes, and you feel annoyed by it, but even more annoyed by your hesitation. 

 

It’s too late to change it now though, so your body just slumps a little, before you sit back down. 

 

Your hands fidget together for a moment, and you watch them instead of looking up at him. Then you say, “Over the summer, I-I didn't have anywhere to go, not really, so Mycroft invited me to stay with him and his family”- you break off, swallowing and feeling guilty for what you’re about to say, for you feel like you’re betraying Mycroft and every nice moment that you've shared together. 

 

 _“Yes?”_ Magnussen prompts, leaning a little closer to you. 

 

You swallow again. “I-well there were moments when I-when I got frustrated because I felt like Mycroft always needed to know where I was”-

 

“For example?” Magnussen asks, and you shift uncomfortably. 

 

“When I tried to go for a walk on my own,” you say. 

 

“Yes?” Magnussen prompts, wanting more, and you begin to feel frustrated. 

 

“Whenever I came back he’d always act offended and ask”-

 

“Ask why you hadn't wanted him to go with you?” Magnussen perceives. 

 

“Yes,” you huff. 

 

“How did it make you feel?” Magnussen asks. 

 

“Frustrated, angry,” you confess, looking up from your hands at him, whilst your heart races. 

 

“How did it make you feel?” Magnussen repeats. 

 

“I-I”- you begin, because you don’t know how to go on. You don’t know what he wants from you. 

 

“How did it make you feel?” Magnussen asks, pushing you again. 

 

“Like I couldn't breathe!” you finally snap, and you clench your fists as you get to your feet again. 

 

Magnussen just stares at you. “Is that what you want Miss L/N?” he asks, “To feel like you can’t breathe again?” 

 

Your body’s trembling now, and your hands rub at your arms as if you’re trying to warm yourself up, whilst you look frantically around the room for help. “You don’t understand,” you get out, once you finally look back at him, “Mycroft’s not, he’s not like that.” You swallow. “You don’t know him, he was only doing that because he cared, if you’d seen how he can be, he was crying the other day, that’s how much he gets upset about things, he would never”- and you point a finger at him now-“ _Never_ do what Moriarty’s done to me.”

 

“Did you ever think that the boy who used to be your best friend, that the boy from the library, could be capable of doing such a thing either?” Magnussen asks, and again your brow scrunches up a little because you don’t remember talking about how much time Moriarty and you used to spend in the library. “Did you?” Magnussen asks, cutting off your thoughts. 

 

“That’s different, they’re not the same”- you say, shaking your head.

 

“It doesn’t have to be the same,” Magnussen’s voice overrides yours, “It can be different, but the fact is that it’s still about control. Still about you letting a man control you, still about you letting yourself be trapped inside that gilded cage, inside this room”-

 

 _“NO!”_ you yell out, your hands going up to either side of your head. Then, as Magnussen watches you steadily, you huff out, “My relationship with Mycroft is not the same as being trapped, it isn't, and I'm sorry, I know you’re just doing your job, I know you’re just trying to help, but I know what’s best on this because I know Mycroft and you don’t. Mycroft couldn't be any less like Moriarty.” You straighten yourself up, like you've seen Mycroft doing a thousand times, before you say, “Forgive me, but I think I’ve had enough for today.” Then, without further ado, you make to stride out of there.

 

“It’s your money,” Magnussen says with a bit of a shrug. But then, once you've left, he says, “She’s loyal, you've got to give her that much,” in a voice that’s much unlike the one he’s always used with you.

 

 _You were getting dangerously close to giving yourself away. If you’re having too much fun then even you can be replaced_ , is the text message that he receives just a moment later. 

 

“It won’t happen again,” Magnussen says to the otherwise silent room. 

 

_See that it doesn’t._

 

“How are we going to proceed?” 

 

 _In the only way that we can. By testing her loyalty._

 

“I take it you mean”-

 

 _Yes._

 

“I’ll get the girl ready.”


	3. Real or Not Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events leading up to Christmas leave their mark on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for your support! :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

You’re running. You’d managed to get up off the chair, before Moriarty had come in. Instead of fleeing towards the main door, which you’d entered the room by; your body had gone instinctively towards the other one. You’d expected to find the small kitchen. Expected to perhaps be able to get out of the window. But instead of a kitchen with an escape route you find a barren corridor, dimly lit by wall lamps, which look like they belong in _Harry Potter_. You stop. Your hair hangs down close to your face. Sticky and damp with sweat it obscures your vision. You push it back roughly. There’s no time for that now. You have to get out. You look around, huffing out a frustrated breath as you do so. There are doors in long lines either side of the corridor. You move forwards, tugging at each doorknob in turn, but none of them give. You stumble forwards. The corridor seems to go on forever. You've only gone a little way down it, your breath coming out in ragged gasps, your legs clumsily keeping you moving all the time, when you hear hurried footsteps following you. The sound makes you start and you hurry forwards all the more frantically. The only surprise is that its taken this long for you to have company, but then you suppose that it’s probably the thrill of the chase and not the capture per se, which has always been the most fun for Moriarty. His voice starts calling out to you. It’s just a wailing noise at first, almost siren-like, as if he’s testing how much the sound will echo. It’s so loud and it echoes so much that it makes you jerk to a stop, whilst a sharp breath leaves your lips. 

 

“F/N, F/N,” he begins to call, and though you imagine that he’s barely moving his lips and barely making an effort to say such words, they travel right up to you, brushing against the back of your neck in a firm caress. 

 

A whimper leaves you. 

 

Then, jolted into life by the sound of his footsteps getting increasingly closer to you, you begin to hurry forwards frantically. 

 

You've barely taken two stumbling steps when a hand grabs onto your arm. 

 

A cry leaves your lips, before you try to wriggle away. 

 

But then you’re being thrown onto the floor and suddenly you’re back in Magnussen’s room. Back where you started. 

 

Another whimper leaves you. Then you wriggle and frantically attempt to push Moriarty away from you when his emotionless face appears above you and his body comes to rest down onto yours. 

 

He pins you down as if you’re a weightless piece of paper. 

 

Once you've exhausted yourself he brushes a strand of hair back from your face and says, “There’s no escape. I thought you would have known that by now. Magnussen’s wrong. Mycroft’s not the one deluding himself, you are.”

 

Little sharp breaths begin to leave your mouth, each one hurting you, and your body begins to tremble against his. 

 

You squeeze your eyes shut, but you open them in the next moment when he says, “You brought it upon yourself you know? So you really mustn't blame me for what’s about to happen next.” Something strange happens then. Moriarty seems to experience some sort of pain because he scrunches his face up and tilts his head onto one side for a moment, whilst a little groan leaves his lips. Then his entire face seems to flicker before you like a TV with bad reception, before it transforms into Magnussen’s. 

 

A breath escapes you because suddenly it’s Magnussen on top of you. Magnussen saying, “You _dare_ defy me?” in a cool voice that makes you shiver against him. 

 

He bends down to lick your face. Your body cringes, your eyes naturally closing. 

 

You only open them again when you feel him looking away from you. 

 

Moriarty’s back, and he gets off you altogether, before he stares down at you with his body turned sideways. 

 

Feeling weak you lift your head up to meet his gaze, whilst your chest heaves with exertion. 

 

His head’s tilted as his eyes meet yours. 

 

He smiles a very sad smile at you for a moment, before he says, “Time’s running out F/N. Tick tock,” and the sight of him looking at you like that and saying such words makes another breath escape you. 

 

Moriarty turns on his heel away from you and your head automatically sinks back towards the floor. 

 

As soon as you touch it you jerk instinctively forwards, back into reality and out of the dream. 

 

The bright light that’s on in your bedroom hits your eyes, making you blink as your body surges upwards into a sitting position. 

 

In the next moment you let out a ragged breath as Mycroft sits down on the bed in front of you and places his hands upon your arms. 

 

Your body feels too raw from the nightmare to even cry, so for a moment you just let out another breath, before you push your head down against his shoulder. 

 

He shuffles forwards. His hands go to rest gently on your back to hold you close to him. 

 

You sniffle against his dressing gown, trying to control your breathing. 

 

He gently moves you a little back from him so that he can study your face. Then he says, “It’s all right F/N, you’re safe now. Molly’s even gone to make us some tea.”

 

You nod and swallow, still trying to get yourself under control and process the dream at the same time, but a whimper leaves your lips when you try to speak, so Mycroft pulls you close to him, rubbing at your back. 

 

You make a gurgling sound as you push your head against his shoulder again. 

 

For a few minutes all you can hear is the soft sound of him breathing and the more frantic sound of yourself as you wheeze against him. 

 

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” Mycroft breathes, feeling sad and anxious for you, but trying to hold his own feelings in so that he can reassure you. 

 

There comes the soft sound of the door opening and you can feel Mycroft’s breath hitching in his chest, feel his hands tightening ever so slightly on your back and feel his head lifting up. You tense up. 

 

“I made you tea,” comes Molly’s voice a moment later. You relax a little. 

 

Then you sense Mycroft peering down at you and feel the slight brush of his nose against your hair. “Thank you,” you hear him say a moment later as he lifts his head up. 

 

You hear Molly shuffling into the room and coming up towards the bedside cabinet in the next moment. You lift your head up and turn it towards her just as she’s putting the cups down. 

 

“Sorry,” you say then, feeling as if you should at the very least apologise for having disturbed her sleep. You’re also very aware of the fact that you've probably woken up everyone else too. 

 

Molly’s face transforms into surprise. Clearly she hadn't expected you to say such a thing and her hand goes towards your shoulder falteringly for a moment, before she gives it a quick squeeze, “Oh F/N,” she says, “You don’t have to apologise, just get that tea down you, before it gets cold.” She nods at where she’s put the tea down. 

 

You swallow and nod at her gratefully, attempting to give her a bit of a watery smile.

 

She looks at you softly for another moment. Then her gaze goes back to Mycroft and she asks a little more tentatively, “Do you need anything else?” 

 

“No, I think that will be all,” Mycroft says. Then he peers down at you as a thought suddenly comes to him and asks, “Unless you have any suggestions?” as he squeezes a little at your upper arms. 

 

“No thank you,” you say, shaking your head a little and looking down rather than at either of them. 

 

Mycroft squeezes at your arms again, before he exchanges another look with Molly. 

 

You hear her leaving the room a moment later. 

 

“Right,” Mycroft says, clearing his throat a little, before he lets go of you. He reaches to pick up one of the cups. 

 

He passes it to you gently and you raise it to your lips, before you take a careful sip of it. It’s warm and comforting, and you take a few more cautious sips of it, before you slowly pass it back to Mycroft who puts it back onto the bedside cabinet for now. 

 

“Budge up,” he says, patting at your leg through the duvet, so you do so, drawing closer to the wall, before you watch as he shifts to sit beside you on top of the duvet. 

 

His weight pins the duvet against your legs, making you feel uncomfortable. “You can come underneath,” you suggest. 

 

He looks at you for a moment, considering the issue. Then he gets up again, before he lifts the duvet up and slides underneath it. You feel a pleasant tingle run through you when his leg comes to rest against yours. He flips the duvet back over him and shifts until he’s in a more comfortable position. “I won’t stay all night,” he says, no doubt thinking about what’s happened before, “Just for a little while.”

 

You nod, accepting his words without complaint. Then you shuffle against him, before you come to rest your head down against his shoulder. 

 

He puts an arm around you, absent-mindedly stroking at your hair for a moment. “It’s getting worse,” he says. 

 

You fidget for a moment. Then you try and focus on one positive when you say, “He just pinned me down tonight. That’s something I guess.” But even as you say it, it feels like little consolation, especially when you consider the fear that you’d felt as you’d tried to escape, how Moriarty had briefly transformed into Magnussen and the words that Moriarty had then gone on to say. 

 

Mycroft gives you a look, knowing that you’re trying to minimize the situation for his sake. You look at him quickly, before you let out a little sigh as you look back down again. 

 

_“F/N”-_

 

“I know,” you tell him quietly. 

 

He takes your hand in his now and holds it loosely on top of the duvet. You both just stare down at the sight thoughtfully for a moment. 

 

“You were thrashing about something terrible when I came in,” Mycroft begins quietly, “I’ve never seen anything like it. I was amazed that the duvet was still on you...you looked like you were running.” As he finishes he turns his head to look at you. 

 

“I was,” you tell him, looking up at him. You swallow, before you look back to your joined hands as you go on, “When it started it was as if I recognised that I’d been in that position before, in Magnussen’s room, waiting for Moriarty to come in. Just waiting. I didn't know that it was a dream though, but for once it was like I didn't want to just wait. Like I couldn't”- Mycroft squeezes at your hand comfortingly now- “So I got up and made for the kitchen door, I was hoping to get out of the window. But I-I couldn't escape. The kitchen wasn't there. The door just led to a stupid long corridor that went on forever and ever and then he caught up to me and we were back in Magnussen’s room and Moriarty”-

 

“F/N breathe, _breathe_ ,” Mycroft reminds you, looking slightly panicked by the way that you’re getting all the more upset and by the way that tears are beginning to tumble out of your eyes, spilling down your face.

 

He turns and reaches across to grab the handkerchief that has his initials on from the bedside cabinet and he dabs at your eyes with it for a moment when he turns back to you, before he passes it to you altogether. 

 

You take it from him gratefully, swallowing and nodding as you fist it inside your hand. 

 

“I couldn't escape,” you murmur faintly, and Mycroft can’t know it but Moriarty’s words are going around and around in your head, taunting you. 

 

 _‘There’s no escape. I thought you would have known that by now.’_

 

Then as you remember, _'Time’s running out F/N. Tick tock,’_ you wriggle a little, feeling panicked, and your chest feels tight because of such a thing. You also can’t help but get the feeling that something bad is going to happen, and soon too.

 

 _“F/N”-_ Mycroft begins, no doubt feeling a little uncomfortable about your behaviour and wanting to snap you out of it if he can. 

 

“I think something bad is going to happen,” you interrupt him, and he looks at you all the more intently. You swallow, before you go on, “I know it sounds stupid, but the Moriarty in my dream said that time was running out and that I can’t escape.”

 

Mycroft swallows, looking uncomfortable. Then he shifts his position and says, “It was just a dream F/N”-you open your mouth-“I know it felt real,” he goes on, “I _know_ it scares you, and anyone would feel scared by it, especially after what you've been through, but it was just a dream.”

 

You swallow and nod, and he rubs at your hand encouragingly. 

 

Then he asks, “Do you think that something happened in your session today to cause it?” before he adds, “I wanted to ask how it went earlier, but I was trying to give you space. I thought it might be wise for me to do so, after, well, after everything that’s happened in the past.”

 

His words make you feel both pleased that he’s trying to be mindful of his behaviour and guilty about the way that you’d shouted at him before. Then you say, “Yes, I did notice, thank you,” before your face becomes more serious once more as you go on, “I don’t think anything really happened in the session to cause it though, but, well, I did tell Magnussen about, well, about the fact that I didn't want to give up on us.” You twist your hand so that you can rub a little at his now. 

 

“What did he say?” Mycroft asks, and there’s a distinct edge to his voice. 

 

You swallow. “H-He said that he still doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“And you?” Mycroft asks, looking at you. 

 

“I disagreed,” you say, before you swallow a little and look at him. Then you go on more fervently, “I said that I _did_ think it was a good idea.” 

 

Mycroft looks away from you for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief as he does so. Then he looks back at you and asks, “You’re sure that nothing from the session could have affected your dream tonight?” You hesitate a moment. For the more you think about it the more you know that there is one thing that could have affected it. Your mouth opens and closes uncertainly. _“F/N?”_ he prompts. 

 

You swallow and look quickly away from him, before you look back at him and say, “There was one moment, but it was just in my mind though, it’s probably nothing.”

 

“I’d like to hear what it is,” Mycroft says cautiously. 

 

You bite at your lip for a moment. Then you shift your position, before you say, “There was one moment, when Magnussen was talking, when just for a moment I thought, well I thought that I saw his face become Moriarty’s. Something similar happened in the dream just now, but to a greater extent where Moriarty literally became Magnussen for a moment, before he reverted back.” You look at him tentatively, and as soon as you see his face becoming more troubled you add, “It was nothing though, just my mind being over-active.”

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath. “You can’t carry on like this,” he tells you, his tone firmer as he shifts his position and moves his hand away from yours. 

 

_“Myc”-_

 

“No F/N, I mean it. We said that we’d monitor the situation. Didn't we say that?” he asks you more insistently and you nod. “I know it’s only the third session, but your nightmares are getting much worse, not better, and if you’re starting to see things like that and pay attention to what Moriarty says in your dreams then I really think that”-

 

“I can’t give up now,” you protest, beginning to feel panicky again. 

 

“I'm not asking you to give up on getting better, _never_ on that,” Mycroft tells you, “But I can’t bear to see you suffering any more like this, I just _can’t_. If you were to go and see someone else, or at the very least if you were to tell Magnussen that you want to try some different techniques because these ones aren't working for you”- 

 

“I can’t,” you protest and Mycroft looks at you desperately, but you look equally desperately back at him as you go on, “Like you said it’s only the third session. I have to try, at least for a bit longer.”

 

Mycroft still doesn’t look happy, and he looks away from you for a moment, before he looks back as he decides, “Until Christmas. Then if it’s still not working and you’re not showing any signs of progress that’s it. You’ll go somewhere else, we’ll find somewhere, no arguments.”

 

You swallow. “Okay.” 

 

He looks more satisfied now, and he shifts to put a hand around your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, before he kisses your hair briefly. You feel a flare of warmth go through you at him doing such a thing. But your face soon becomes more serious when he asks, “Are you still picturing Moriarty in that room, before you go to bed every night?” 

 

“Yes,” you say, feeling a little puzzled. For why wouldn't you be? That’s the only way that you’ll get better after all. 

 

“That’s another thing, I know I'm no expert but I can’t see how it can be healthy for you to be thinking about such things right before you go to bed. No wonder you’re not getting a good night’s sleep. If you could just have one or two nights a week where you don’t have to go through such a thing then that would be something. It would give you a break at least”-

 

You rub at his hand now. Then when he breaks off and looks at you with a little puzzlement on his face you smile at him a little weakly, before you tell him, “You’re getting worked up, I think _you’re_ the one who needs to breathe now. Besides, you know I have to think about it, Magnussen said I should.”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft looks at you patiently, “But the point is that I think if you were to think about something else too, just after you think about that, something pleasanter, then that would at least give you a better chance to sleep easier.” You smile a little now, you can’t help it, for you already know what that something pleasanter will be. Mycroft looks like he might know such a thing too as he goes on a little knowingly, “Shall we try it tonight? Just that part of it?” 

 

“Okay,” you nod, wriggling down so that you’re lying on your side.

 

“Drink your tea first,” Mycroft reminds you, giving a playful little poke to your side and you giggle, before you slap a hand over your mouth. 

 

“Mm, I think someone’s feeling ticklish,” he goes on, smiling a little and feeling lighter, before his hands tentatively reach to tickle you again. 

 

You squirm up and giggle, your hand instinctively freeing your mouth so that an outpouring of laughter can flow from it, whilst you flail around. Mycroft chuckles and tickles you until you finally end up lying on your back, panting hard and feeling the happiest you've done in an age. As you look at Mycroft you know that he feels it too. 

 

You just stare at each other for a moment, you with your mouth open and your face flushed, whilst Mycroft peers down at you, his mouth curved into a beautiful smile and his eyes sparkling. 

 

“I love you,” you tell him, feeling such a thing more than ever in that moment. 

 

“I love you too,” Mycroft tells you, before he turns and passes you your tea with a, “Here,” as you sit up. 

 

You sip at it; barely able to take your eyes off him all the time that you do so. 

 

Once you finish, you pass your now empty cup back to him, before you wriggle down as he gets out of bed. 

 

He pulls your desk chair close to the bed and sits down on it. “Now, I want you to picture something happy,” he tells you, before he picks up and sips at his own tea. 

 

You smile, drinking in his steady presence and the way that the light’s making his hair shine, before you close your eyes. All you can see is him and all you can feel is the aftermath of the laughter, which had escaped you. You smile some more, and you feel so comfortable that it’s not long before you fall asleep. 

 

“Sweet dreams,” Mycroft murmurs, getting up and kissing you gently on the forehead, before he drags the chair back to where it was originally and leaves the room. 

 

*

 

“You’re looking happy,” Molly comments that following morning, looking in between you and the jam that she’s swiping onto her toast with a bit of a smile. 

 

You can’t help but grin then, before you confess, “Mycroft was really good with me last night, I think we’re really starting to work better with each other.”

 

She smiles at you again. “I'm pleased,” she says, which makes you grin and wriggle around a bit in your chair. 

 

You look away from each other when Mycroft steps out of his room. 

 

“How are you?” he asks as he comes up to you. Then he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, before he sits down beside you. 

 

“Much better thanks,” you say, giving him a beaming smile, and you can’t know how much his heart flips over at the sight of it. 

 

Molly looks in between you both feeling pleased. Then she says, “Since Halloween’s coming up I was going to suggest that we could all go up to the party they’re going to be having at the student union.”

 

Mycroft looks at you. 

 

“I think it’s a good idea,” you shrug, not really that bothered one way or another, especially after what had happened last year.

 

“What’s a good idea?” Greg asks, coming in a moment later, and though he's fully-clothed his hair’s terribly damp and tousled. You smile a bit at how Molly brightens a little when she both hears his voice and sees him.

 

“Just this Halloween party up at the student union,” Molly says, trying to not look too pleased with herself when Greg kisses her on the cheek, before he sits down. 

 

“We don’t have to dress up do we?” Sherlock asks as he slouches in a moment later. 

 

“I thought you’d take any opportunity to dress up as a pirate,” Mycroft quips. 

 

Sherlock sticks his tongue out at him. 

 

You smile at their interaction, though you soon become distracted a moment later when Molly claps her hands excitedly together, before she tells you, “You should wear that cute outfit that you put together last year F/N.” Then when she sees the way that Mycroft’s suddenly looking at you enquiringly, whilst you blush and become unnaturally interested in your cereal, she goes on teasingly, “You missed a treat there Mycroft, that’s what happens when you study in the library too much instead of coming to parties.”

 

“In that case I’ll certainly make sure not to miss this one,” Mycroft says with a bit of a smile, and he feels pleased when he sees how your lips quirk upwards at his comment. 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, before he quips, “Yes, you might even become more than _‘just friends’_ with F/N again.” Mycroft frowns. “Talking about relationships,” Sherlock goes on with a bit of an edge to his voice, “I’d appreciate it if you didn't go talking to John behind my back.” You frown now, looking in between the two brothers, whilst you wonder what Sherlock had meant. 

 

“I saw an opportunity and I took it,” Mycroft says a little testily, before he adds in a more conversational tone, “Besides, he was looking lonely. Though that’s what happens I suppose when you make someone wait for you for so long.”

 

“Well you’d know all about waiting wouldn't you?” Sherlock retorts with a pointed look at you. 

 

You look down at the table; beginning to worry about what Sherlock’s just said. 

 

But Mycroft halts such worry just a moment later when he places a hand upon yours, before he informs his brother crisply, “F/N and I are being sensible by not rushing into things right now. We’re preserving our future.” You look at him gratefully. 

 

“Relationships aren't meant to sound like the terms of a bank account Mycroft,” Sherlock says, letting out a bit of a snort. 

 

“Since when did you become such an expert?” Mycroft enquires, before he can’t help but add sardonically, “Apart from a few brief fumblings you've hardly done anything noteworthy since you started dating John.”

 

“At least I'm _in_ a relationship,” Sherlock says rather heatedly, “Besides, ‘a few brief fumblings’ is more than you've had in your entire life,” he hisses across the table. You swallow, again feeling embarrassed. 

 

Mycroft’s cheeks flush pink and his hand tightens upon yours, before he lets go of it completely. “Yes, well like I’ve said before it’s not a competition,” he says as he goes back to his toast. 

 

“Something which only a loser would say,” Sherlock can’t help but point out. 

 

Mycroft frowns. 

 

But before he can retort Greg clears his throat and says, “Perhaps now would be a good time for you to tell us more about that Halloween party Molly?” 

 

“Yes,” Molly says, clearing her throat a little, before she hurriedly goes on to begin explaining more about the party, thankfully saving you all from having to listen to any more bickering between the Holmes brothers. 

 

*

 

“John’s not going to take advantage of Sherlock you know?” you say when you’re doing some studying around the kitchen table with Mycroft that night. He looks up at you from where he’s been trying to locate a passage in a book. “That’s what you were really getting at this morning wasn't it?” you ask. 

 

He swallows and looks back down at his book, before he gives up on it and pushes it aside. You both just watch it for a moment as the pages fall shut. Then you look back at him and listen as he says, “It’s not John’s behaviour that I'm worried about. It’s more the fact of how Sherlock’s behaviour in the present will impact how Sherlock feels in the future.”

 

“He has to grow up sometime,” you tell him reasonably. “And part of that is about making mistakes.” 

 

“Does he?” Mycroft asks with a bit of a sad smile, before he muses, “Is he even capable of doing such a thing?” 

 

You chew on your lip for a moment and push back in your chair, whilst you think about it all. “John’s good for him. They've been friends for a while haven’t they? And you must have seen Sherlock grow and become happier in that time?” Mycroft nods, for he can’t deny that. “So perhaps he’s not as delicate as you think he is.”

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath and stares at the book he’d closed. He wishes that were true. Wishes that Sherlock didn't seem so vulnerable to him and that he could relax a little more and not worry so much about the state of his little brother. 

 

“He’s still the little boy who was dangling out of the window to you isn't he?” you ask, realizing such a thing as you look at his troubled face. 

 

“Yes,” he nods, “I think he always will be.”

 

A fear pricks at you then, making you look down. For if Sherlock will always be that scared reckless and slightly vulnerable little boy then does that mean Mycroft will always see you as the woman who was raped? The woman who needs looking after all the time? You can’t bear to voice it though, so you just go back to your studying. 

 

Mycroft, not having access to the thoughts that had just gone through your head just thinks that the conversation is over and does the same. 

 

*

 

Halloween comes around quickly after that. 

 

You don’t wear what you’d worn last year, in fear that it will only serve to remind you constantly about how miserable you’d ended up becoming after Moriarty had taunted you and Mycroft hadn't seen you in your outfit at all. Instead you wear jeans, a black t-shirt with a skull on, a f/c cardigan and a brown scarf. But even though it’s more practical and not as cute as last year’s outfit had been Mycroft still looks at you approvingly as you make your way downstairs to join the others. 

 

As you stop beside him you notice that he looks rather nice too. He’s wearing a maroon turtle-neck jumper and dark jeans, which have their bottoms turned up.

 

“I see what Molly meant,” Mycroft says, and you can’t help but blush a little as he tentatively takes your hand in his. 

 

“It’s not the same outfit,” you confess, wriggling a little. 

 

“No,” Mycroft says, “But it’s still nice.”

 

“I like the turtle-neck,” you tell him, shifting your position a little awkwardly, “It goes well with your height,” before you feel pleased a moment later when you see a faint blush emerging on his cheeks.

 

“In that case I shall have to dig it out more often,” Mycroft begins, before he goes on more confidently, “Mummy gave it to”-

 

But you never find out any more, for Molly chooses that moment to leave the living room, looking pretty herself in jeans, a sparkly black top and a stripy scarf, which is full of autumn colours. “Oh, you look so nice F/N, both of you do,” she coos when she sees you, and Mycroft smiles, drawing himself up, whilst you grin and feel tentatively excited for the night ahead. 

 

Greg comes out of the living room in the next moment. His hair’s sticking up and he looks like he belongs in a rock band with his white shirt, which has its sleeves slightly rolled up, loose black tie and ripped jeans. 

 

He studies Mycroft and you for a moment. Then his eyes light up when he sees your linked hands. “Mycroft, _you’re_ doing good tonight. Keep it up.”

 

You look between Mycroft and Greg curiously. 

 

“Gregory used to ah, help me a little when I was in danger of going wrong with you. He came in most handy when we were at the bowling alley actually,” Mycroft explains. 

 

“ _‘Used to?’_ Ah I see that you’re all grown up now Mycroft, you don’t need me any more,” Greg says, first pretending to be a little outraged and then tragically disappointed. In true dramatic fashion he tilts his head back and puts a hand to his forehead. It suddenly occurs to you that the Holmes brothers have probably rubbed off on Greg as much as he’s rubbed off on them. 

 

Molly laughs and pushes at him playfully and Greg grins at her as he straightens up again, before he puts a hand around her shoulder. 

 

“No, I-I'm sure that I’ll still need your help sometimes,” Mycroft says rather awkwardly, shifting his position and peering down at you rather embarrassedly. 

 

“I think you’re doing pretty good on your own,” you reassure him, and Mycroft feels a rush of pleasure run through him, whilst Greg raises his eyebrows and mouths, ‘I think you've just been given an A plus,’ to Mycroft, which only makes you both flush more. 

 

Sherlock and John have already gone on ahead, so it’s just the four of you who troop up to the university together. 

 

Once you arrive you all go to get a drink, which are served to you in those same plastic cups as last year. 

 

You move off to the side and look out across the dance floor. Your eyes adjust to the strobe lights as you do so and you see that most people are wearing normal clothes. However you do spot a werewolf, a mummy and an Egyptian Queen as you look around and Mycroft stands protectively close to you all the while. 

 

You’re still sussing things out and trying to decide whether or not you actually want to dance to the current song, which is, _‘Ghostbusters,’_ when Greg and Molly finish their drinks and toss their cups into a bin. Greg drags Molly energetically out onto the dance floor. 

 

You let out a snort as they begin to dance. 

 

“They’re very keen aren't they?” Mycroft asks, sounding a little taken aback by the way that the usually reserved Molly is throwing herself about on the dance floor. 

 

“Yeah,” you say with a bit of a grin on your face as you watch how Greg’s leaning back with his knees bent as he tosses his hair about and how Molly’s laughing as she jumps up and down in the air. Her arms flail about all the time as she does so. 

 

Mycroft smiles at you. Then he swallows and clears his throat, before he works up enough courage to say, “We could go out and dance too if you’d like?” You look at him. “I don’t promise to be quite a good dancer as that,” he adds, looking pointedly back at Gregory with a raised eyebrow, and you smile, “But I’ll do my best to make sure that you have an enjoyable evening nonetheless.”

 

“I think I’d like that,” you say, before you drain the last few drops of your drink. 

 

“Good,” Mycroft smiles, before he finishes his drink too. 

 

You toss both of your cups in the bin. Then Mycroft leads you out onto the dance floor. 

 

You find a clear little spot, close to the fringes of it all where there’s not too many people, and Mycroft and you both experiment with where to put your hands for a moment. Yours first go to his shoulders, whilst his go to your back. Then yours slide down to his chest and to his waist, before finally he takes your hands in his and twirls you about a couple of times-

 

“This isn't the ballroom,” Sherlock quips as he and John dance past you, which is ironic because they look like they’re doing some sort of tango themselves, albeit a pirate themed one since they’re both dressed up. 

 

Mycroft smiles at you a little embarrassedly at his brother’s remark. But before either of you have a chance to adjust your positions Greg and Molly sidle over to the side of you, Greg saying, “Okay Mycroft it looks like you _still_ do need my help after all. Just relax and feel the music.” Molly splutters with laughter at his comment, before they go back into the crowd again. 

 

You snort at Greg’s comment yourself. But knowing that Mycroft might benefit from having a break from trying to figure out what to do, you suggest, “We could always go and get another drink.”

 

Mycroft knows that you’re only saying such a thing for his benefit, and looking determined now he shakes his head and puts one hand upon your waist, before he pulls you back and forth experimentally with his other, wearing a studious look upon his face as he does so. He glances back at you a moment later, asking, “Is that”-

 

You nod and he smiles. 

 

The pair of you start properly dancing after that, this time to _‘Witch Doctor,’_ though you can soon tell that Mycroft’s getting a little too hot in his turtle-neck. “Take it off,” you say, plucking at it. 

 

He slows his movements and lets out a bit of a breath, his cheeks red, whilst he considers the issue. 

 

Then he nods, before he lets go of you. 

 

You step back a little to give him more space, before your eyes dart down automatically when he begins to lift the top off himself. You swallow as the white t-shirt that he’s wearing hitches up too, revealing a peek of his chest hair, before you quickly look up again as Mycroft re-emerges. 

 

He blows a bit of a breath out, giving you a bit of a relieved smile when he sees you, before he ties his jumper around his waist. 

 

His eyes go back to you then, and as they do you lift a hand up automatically so that you can smooth his hair back down. 

 

Mycroft smiles and stills as you do such a thing. Then when your hand begins to lower again he straightens up and once more takes your hand in his. 

 

Everything goes smoothly up until the point where Mycroft has to go to the toilet. 

 

You move off to the side after he leaves you, trying to spot Molly, Greg, Sherlock or John in the crowd as you stand there, whilst you feel a little flushed and exhilarated from all your dancing. 

 

You sense someone coming to stand next to you, so you turn your head to look at them. 

 

A figure, equal to your height, stands there wearing a dark cloak, which covers their clothes and a Scream mask. 

 

You give a little start when you see them, before you swallow. “Hi,” you breathe, trying to stay calm and be fine about it, even though you automatically feel a bit fretful and your hands can’t help but fidget. 

 

Your stomach plunges uncomfortably in the next moment when five people come to form a half-circle around you, all of them wearing black cloaks and Scream masks. 

 

*

 

Mycroft can’t see you. That’s the thing that he first becomes aware of once he returns from the bathroom. He looks all around the perimeter of the dance floor, his heart racing and his fists clenching, because if anything’s happened to you now…

 

*

 

You’re backed up right against the wall. “I-I”- you say, whilst all the figures look at you. 

 

Your eyes scan them all, whilst your fingers scrape against the wall and your head begins to feel a little dizzy. 

 

The figures may all look the same, but one, the shortest, keeps catching your attention. You don’t know what it is but something just feels different about him. It could be the energy. But whatever it is your eyes just keep flicking back to him. 

 

It happens when your eyes next go back to him, just for a moment, and you think you see Moriarty there. You let out a ragged gasp and slump back against the wall. Your fingers slide off it helplessly, whilst you blink rapidly. But Moriarty doesn’t fade back into the Scream mask wearing figure. He just stays there and stares at you unblinkingly. Suddenly he’s in your mind again and whispering, “I told you there’s no escape,” in between chewing that gum of his, his face inches from yours. 

 

A gurgle leaves your lips and you can feel yourself sliding further down the wall, feel yourself beginning to fade. _“Myc,”_ you croak out. Then when for one singular moment you become intensely aware of your predicament and aware that if you don’t try and get someone’s help right now you’re going to faint and God knows what will happen to you, you yell out, _“Mycroft!”_ with every bit of remaining strength that you possess. 

 

Mycroft hears your yell in between the beat of the music, and he swivels towards the direction in which it had come from, before he hurries forwards. 

 

You’re aware of him pushing through the strange people with their strange masks in the next moment, aware of lots of people talking around you. But it’s him, as he crouches in front of you that your hazy vision is most aware of, him that your hands automatically stretch out towards. 

 

“It’s all right F/N, you’re all right now,” Mycroft soothes in the most reassuring tone that he can, though if you’d been able to see him properly right then you’d know just how worried he’s looking as he takes you in. 

 

“You came,” is all you manage to get out, before your head slumps sideways onto your shoulder, your vision becoming all the more blurry as it does so. 

 

You hear him letting out a little breath then, hear him calling out your name. But though you open your mouth and move it about experimentally no words come out. 

 

He lifts you to your feet and you stumble against him unsteadily. 

 

You hear someone who sounds a lot like Greg asking, “Mate is she all right?” but your vision’s too blurry and you haven’t got a good grip on any of your senses, so you can’t be sure that it’s actually him. 

 

“I'm just taking her out. She needs some air,” comes Mycroft’s firm reply in the next moment. You feel him adjusting his hold on you. 

 

Then he steers you out and you’re not aware of anything much more than the brush of his body against yours and his arm firmly around you until you’re outside and the cold air’s hitting your face. 

 

As soon as it hits you however it’s like everything comes rushing back to you, and as your vision rights itself you take a deep gulp of air into your lungs, before you gasp out, “I saw Moriarty.”

 

 _“What?”_ Mycroft breathes, pulling you aside now so that you end up standing further away from the student union building with him in front of you and his hands on your shoulders. 

 

You swallow and look at him, before you tell him, “He was one of them. One of the people in those Scream masks.” By the time that you finish you've got a most urgent expression on your face. 

 

“People in the Scream masks?” Mycroft asks, his face growing puzzled. 

 

 _“Yes,”_ you say, looking at him insistently now. For why isn't he getting this? This most obvious of points? Why isn't he managing to process the point that Moriarty’s back? 

 

Rather than taking in what you want him to however he simply looks worried, and, to your astonishment, a little embarrassed. Then he looks away from you a little helplessly, before he looks back at you and says, “F/N, there _were_ no people in Scream masks, not that I saw anyway”-

 

“What?” you breathe, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing now. “Yes there were. All those people you pushed through, all those people surrounding me, all of them were wearing Scream masks.”

 

Mycroft swallows and shakes his head. “Those were just normal people, none of them were wearing costumes. They said that they’d just begun to talk to you when you started to act strange and nearly passed out.”

 

You just stare at him, your mouth slightly agape, still not understanding. 

 

He looks at you worriedly, before he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You've got a fever,” he says, withdrawing his hand from you a moment later. “Come, I need to get you home.” 

 

He begins to attempt to guide you away, but you grab at his arm to stop him. Then when he looks back at you, you say, “Mycroft, none of those people spoke to me. I'm not lying, I _genuinely_ saw Moriarty.” 

 

His mouth opens automatically, whilst his eyes look at you worriedly. Then he says, “We can discuss what you did or didn't see later. Right now you need to get home so that you can rest.”

 

You just stare at him for a moment, part of you wanting to argue the point with him some more as you do so. Then, knowing that you won’t be able to make him see sense right now, not when he’s worried about you like this, you simply huff out a breath and step forwards. 

 

The journey home seems to take forever. You’re weak and short of breath, something which only becomes all the more apparent the further you walk, and you can only move really slowly, even with Mycroft’s hand on your back and his gentle words of encouragement all the way.

 

Finally you get home and just the sight of the house after you've gone down the steps makes you let out a breath of relief and slump against Mycroft even more.

 

“Just hold on a bit longer,” Mycroft tells you, ushering you forwards now to the door and clearly trying to keep calm, but you can sense the worry that’s behind his words. 

 

He adjusts his grip on you and fumbles for his key. Then it takes a couple of attempts to get the door open because of the dark, before finally he guides you inside. 

 

He switches the light on, and as soon as he lets go of you, you stagger across to the wall, before you slide down it, your face blotchy and flushed with fever. You feel completely exhausted. 

 

“Can you get upstairs?” Mycroft asks, panting a little himself as he looks at you. 

 

You close your eyes and just shake your head for a moment. But then when Mycroft starts to come towards you, you raise a hand, before you breathe out, “Just give me a moment,” whilst you open your eyes. 

 

Mycroft swallows and nods, but you can tell that he’s not happy by the way that he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You know that he’ll feel a lot more comfortable once you’re resting. 

 

You swallow a couple of times, gathering your strength. Then you heave yourself to your feet and Mycroft hurries forwards so that he might assist you. 

 

Together, with one of his arms around you and one of yours flung around him, whilst you lean quite heavily into his side; you begin to make your way upstairs. 

 

Your head’s dizzy and your vision’s beginning to go again once you reach the top. You let out a bit of a whimper. Mycroft tightens his grip on you, before he pushes your bedroom door open with his foot. 

 

He guides you over to your bed and you slump down upon it, half-leaning across it with your head close to the duvet. You press a fist to your forehead and breathe hard. 

 

“F/N?” Mycroft says, and he sounds like he’s coming from a far away place, “F/N you need to get into your bed things. I’ll go and get you some water and some paracetamol.”

 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want you to leave me,” you gurgle out.

 

“It’ll only be for a moment,” he says, his voice gentle, and you can feel him shifting his position, before you feel his hand tenderly going across the back of your hair. 

 

“You promise?” you ask, your voice raspy as your breaths start to calm down a little and your vision slowly spins itself into a more normal position. 

 

“Of course,” he murmurs, before he gently pushes your pyjamas towards your head with a, “Here.”

 

You swallow and stroke at the soft material of them for a moment, before you sit up. Your whole world spins as you do and you let out a bit of a gasp. 

 

Mycroft puts his hands onto your shoulders to steady you. “I won’t be long,” he says, “Just sit here for a moment if you want.”

 

You nod, your head feeling heavy, and he gives you one last considering look, before he leaves the room. 

 

You stay there sitting for a moment, just as he suggested, whilst you try to regulate your breathing. 

 

Then, thinking that you better at least _attempt_ to get into your pyjamas, before he comes back, you get to your feet unsteadily. You get close to tripping over as you pull your pyjama bottoms on, but somehow you manage to tug them up. Then you sigh a little in relief when you get to sit back on the bed so that you can pull your pyjama jacket on. 

 

*

 

“I'm sorry,” Molly says, letting out a little breath and walking away from both the dance floor and Greg now so that she can go off to the side. 

 

“She’s with Mycroft, she’ll be fine,” Greg says, feeling a little irritated and exasperated as he follows her off. 

 

“I know,” she says, swallowing and turning back to him, “But I think I’d rather go home and make sure that she’s all right.” 

 

She makes to turn away from him now. But she stops just a moment later when she hears him say, “You can’t keep doing this.”

 

“What am I doing?” she asks as she turns back to him. 

 

She swallows at the sight of him. For he still looks all rumpled and flushed from all the dancing, but he’s got this pain about him too, and there’s almost something accusing shining at the edge of the happiness that’s in his eyes. 

 

He stares at her for a moment, taking in the tentative expression that’s on her face. Then he looks off to the side, before he looks back to her and mutters, “It doesn’t matter, just go.”

 

_“Greg”-_

 

“Just go Molly,” he tells her. 

 

After another final look at him she does. 

 

*

 

You feel a bit better once you’re sitting up in bed. You even manage a small smile when Mycroft returns, knocking on your door and asking if it’s fine for him to come in, before he enters. 

 

After taking the paracetamol he passes you and sipping at a little of the water however you begin to feel a little strange and uncomfortable again. You wriggle around as your cheeks start to burn up and Mycroft attempts to soothe you by putting his hand gently beside you, whilst he whispers words of comfort. 

 

Finally you still and just focus on his face, concentrating hard. Then, and you don’t know how it happens but suddenly you’re not in your bedroom any more. You’re in the consulting room and Moriarty’s already there. 

 

*

 

Mycroft gets up from where he’d been sat on a chair beside you once you finally slip into sleep’s grasp and stretches uncomfortably. 

 

He swallows a little and peers down at you. There’s something that makes him feel uncomfortable flickering beneath your eyelids already, and he decides that though he’ll leave you alone for a little bit, he’ll check on you throughout the night and keep an eye on you. 

 

For now though he fetches his laptop and slips back downstairs. 

 

*  
“F/N,” is the first thing Moriarty says, his eyes fixing on you as he stands just behind the small coffee table. His posture however is more casual than his expression, for he’s got one hand shoved in his pocket and his body tilts back a little as he continues to stare at you. He’s wearing a suit without a tie, and the white shirt he’s got on is rumpled, some of the buttons undone. He looks like he’s just come home from a good night out. You swallow, before you do so again when you see the Scream mask that dangles from his other hand against his leg. 

 

Your head begins to spin. He steps forwards. “Don’t come near me,” you warn him. 

 

* 

 

Mycroft’s just setting his laptop up on the dining table when he hears the door slam. A moment later Molly walks into the room. 

 

“Is she all right?” is the first thing she asks, and Mycroft just looks at her for a moment, before he sits down in front of the laptop. 

 

“She’s asleep now, but she’s got a fever of some sort,” he says. “You didn't have to come back,” he adds. 

 

“That’s what Greg said,” Molly murmurs more to herself than to Mycroft as she walks across. 

 

“Hmm?” Mycroft asks, whilst he connects to the Internet now, for he hadn't quite made out what Molly had just said. 

 

“Nothing,” Molly says quickly, before she sits down opposite him. Then she nods to his laptop and asks, “What are you looking up?” 

 

Mycroft stiffens a little at her question. Then he goes on to give her a rough account of what you’d told him, before he concludes, “…So I thought in light of that it might be a wise idea to look up other people that she could go to, or any other techniques that she could at least use alongside these ones.”

 

Molly thinks about it for a moment. Then she says cautiously, “It hasn't been very long since she started seeing Dr. Magnussen though. I mean not really, not when you consider what she’s been through and trying to recover from.”

 

“I know,” Mycroft confesses, “But I just don’t think, and I know you probably think that I'm being over-protective here, but I don’t think they’re working for her. I mean if she’s started seeing Moriarty”- he breaks off. 

 

Molly swallows, for she can’t exactly argue with that. But then she says, “Don’t make any rash decisions, and talk to her first if you’re going to do anything.”

 

Mycroft nods so Molly nods back at him, before she gets to her feet. 

 

“Going to bed?” Mycroft asks. 

 

Molly nods, before she pats him briefly on the shoulder and makes to leave the room. 

 

She goes upstairs. But before she goes to her own bedroom she pops into yours, poking her head around the door, which Mycroft’s left slightly ajar. 

 

You’re on your side, wheezing a little in your sleep, and your face looks damp and sweaty. Molly frowns, wondering if she should go and fetch Mycroft. But then Greg’s face appears in her mind and she shakes her head a little. She leaves you for her own room. 

 

*

 

In the dream Moriarty stops, raises his hands, and you feel sick as the Scream mask comes into better focus. “You know,” he drawls, “I was so disappointed by you earlier,” he strolls up to you. You swallow and take a step back. It makes no difference, for he’s all around you in the next moment, circling you, his hand brushing against your hair and the Scream mask bumping against your cheek. “Calling out for silly, old Mycroft like that instead of stopping and talking to me.” He pauses as he comes to a stop right in front of you. “What was the point in that huh?” he asks, before he shakes his head a little sadly at you and adds, “He didn't even believe you.”

 

You swallow and try to stop your body from trembling but it does so anyway. “What do you want?” you get out in a rough voice. 

 

He just shakes his head at you again for a moment, before he turns around, walks a few steps and tosses the Scream mask aside. Then he turns back and walks until he’s right in front of you. “Didn't I tell you time was running out F/N? Tonight was only the beginning.” He puts both of his hands in his trouser pockets now. “You've been trying to ignore it, trying to get better, but I'm coming back sweetie, and this time I'm not going to stop until you’re gone.” You swallow, before your dry, cracked lips begin to part. He’s already beginning to fade though, as is the dream, and all you hear is him whispering, “Not going to stop until you’re gone,” against the skin of your neck, before you wake with a start. 

 

A shout leaves your lips as soon as you do so, and when you feel how tightly the bed sheet is wrapped around you, you sit up as much as you can and try and wrestle it off. Your skin’s all hot and clammy and your fingers are suddenly too big and clumsy to get rid of it. You slump back a moment later, feeling exhausted. Your throat’s dry and your lips are cracked and broken. 

 

There’s noise on the stairs and Mycroft bursts into the room, switching on the light as he comes in. 

 

You begin to sob, you can’t help it. 

 

He stares at you for a moment, his mouth open and his heart sinking down in his chest. Then he strides over to you and places the back of his hand against your forehead. Something flickers in his eyes as he feels how hot you are. “Wait there,” he says, before he quickly turns away from you and leaves the room. 

 

You nod, unable to do anything more than gasp out a little, whilst tears stream down your face. 

 

Mycroft returns a moment later, carrying a small container of cool water in one hand and a cloth in the other. He puts them carefully down on the bedside cabinet, before he turns back to where you’re still helplessly cocooned in your sheet. You’re not crying as much any more, just sniffing and looking upset. “Right,” he swallows, before he gently makes to unwrap you from the sheet. Then he somehow both lifts you up into a sitting up position because you seem too weak to do so yourself and manages to prop up your pillow behind you. Your arms had gone around his neck when he’d lifted you and you slowly draw them back now as he pulls away from you. His eyes look at you with both something tender and considering in them. 

 

He swallows and turns back to the bedside cabinet.

 

“He’s coming back,” you whisper hoarsely, as your eyes close from your exhaustion and you almost slip back into sleep again. 

 

Mycroft freezes and looks back at you from where he’d been slowly soaking the cloth in the water and rinsing it. 

 

“He’s coming back,” you repeat, your body twitching a little now.

 

Mycroft thinks that you mean Moriarty’s coming back to you in the nightmare. “F/N, stay with me,” he says, finishing rinsing the cloth and sitting on the edge of the bed. He gently dabs it against your forehead to cool your hot skin. 

 

You shiver a little and your eyes half-open. “Myc,” you murmur when you see him there through your blurry vision. You grab at his wrist, and he slowly re-applies the cloth to your forehead with his other hand. You shiver again, clearly fighting against the fever. “Myc he’s coming back,” you wheeze.

 

“No he’s not, it’s just a dream. You’re not there, not really, you’re here with me,” Mycroft murmurs, trying to soothe you, but your eyes are shut again and your body begins to slip down the pillow. Mycroft adjusts his position and supports the back of your head with his hand, before he dabs at your forehead and cheeks with the cloth in an attempt to wake you and get you to behave more sensibly. You’re already too far gone though, and seeing such a thing Mycroft swivels around and puts the cloth down on the bedside cabinet. He moves you slowly down so that you’re in a lying position again and pulls the pillow down so that your head can rest upon it, before he instinctively gets into bed beside you. There’s already trouble flickering beneath your eyelids, and he pulls you slowly towards him so that your head comes to rest on his lap and your body’s in between his legs. He peers down at you, trailing his fingers slowly through your hair. He might not be able to stop your sub-conscious from going to that room, but he can at least try and be there for you and hope that, that will bleed into your dream somehow. 

 

You begin to move, jerking and twitching against him, and Mycroft’s hands move to curl protectively around your shoulders, steadying you. A few sharp breaths leave your mouth and you begin to shake your head as if you’re protesting against something that’s going on in the dream. Mycroft’s hands shift against your shoulders, and he massages them a little, before he gently cradles your face. “I'm here,” he tells you, but you don’t seem to hear him and your little movements grow all the more frequent until you wake up with a start. Your body goes flying forwards. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft says cautiously since you now have your back to him.

 

A whoosh of breath leaves your mouth, before you turn back to him. 

 

Your whole body seems to relax as soon as you see him, and you slump back against him. 

 

Your head slides down into his lap again and you peer up at him, blinking on occasion as if you’re fighting to stay with him. Then you slip back into that cruel, senseless sleep again. 

 

Mycroft stays with you. He’s there every time you wake from the dreams that don’t seem capable of leaving you alone tonight and every time that you slip back into them, cradling your body against his as you twitch and writhe. He cools your forehead every time you wake and the little smile that you give him every time you see him tells him that you appreciate him even though you can’t find the words to say so. 

 

Sherlock enters the room cautiously when you’re in the middle of having another one of your dreams. Mycroft tightens his grip on you a little and assesses your current position with his eyes, before he allows himself to look across at his brother. 

 

Sherlock looks scared when he sees the state that you’re in. “It’s okay,” Mycroft reassures him. 

 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Sherlock says, and there’s no trace of venom in his words. They’re just said quietly. 

 

Mycroft nods because it’s true; he knows that he doesn’t have to lie to his brother about this, especially after last year. Then he shifts his position again and looks down when you move against him. He looks back up at Sherlock in the next moment and begins to explain what had gone on that night, pausing every now and again to accommodate you. 

 

Once he’s finished Sherlock says, “Do you think what she saw was purely because of the fever or”-

 

“I think it was exacerbated _because_ of the fever,” Mycroft confesses, before he adds, “But I don’t think the techniques Magnussen’s giving her are the right ones to suit her needs,” as he looks back down at you.

 

Sherlock nods and just thinks about it all in his mind for a moment. Then he says, “Wouldn't it be easier if you were to just go and see Magnussen himself and tell him that?” before he adds when Mycroft looks at him, “F/N’s used to him now after all, so whatever techniques he uses, it might be better for her in the long run to stay where she is.” 

 

Mycroft makes a, “Hmm,” of non-commitment. But he can’t get his brother’s words out of his head, and even though his mind is mostly fixed on you and keeping an eye on you and trying to make sure he’s there for you, every time he has a moment Sherlock’s words come back to him. 

 

By the first light of morning when he’s exhausted but still cradling you even though your dreams seem to have finally stopped he’s decided that he’ll try and book his own appointment with Magnussen if he can. For that seems to be the only logical way of progressing now. 

 

*

 

You wake. Your head feels tired and groggy and your skin a little prickly and warm. To say that you’re not feeling yourself is an understatement. 

 

You don’t automatically realise that you’re using Mycroft’s lap as a pillow, but when you turn your head slightly and see that someone’s hand is resting just beneath your shoulder you let out a little cry and start, your body flying into a sitting up position despite how stiff and sore it feels. 

 

When you look around and see that it’s only Mycroft your heart calms its frantic pace a little and you turn, shifting so that you’re sitting on your knees in between his legs. 

 

His head is tilted back against the headboard, his body slightly slumped, his mouth open. He looks pale and exhausted and you feel as much love towards him in that moment as you feel hate towards yourself for putting him through such things.

 

As if he senses that you’re thinking thoughts that he’d partly disapprove of Mycroft’s eyes flicker open. When he sees that you’re sitting in front of him looking at him he leans forwards, his eyes automatically scanning you and his hands taking yours. “How are you feeling?” he asks. 

 

“Better than I would be if it wasn't for you,” you confess. “You stayed with me all night?” you ask. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Mycroft nods, before his eyes catch sight of the time and he confesses, “Though I better go now if I want to be up at the university on time.”

 

“I better too,” you say, making to move but-

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mycroft informs you, stopping you by putting one of his hands on your arms. You look back at him. “You've had a rough night and you need to rest.”

 

“You've had a rough night too, and you’re still going.” 

 

“I haven’t had a fever,” Mycroft replies just as quickly, before he moves around you and gets to his feet. He looks back to you and when he sees you’re frowning he says, “I’ll bring you up a little toast and something to drink, okay?” 

 

You still frown at him for a moment, before your face softens as you relent. You nod. 

 

Mycroft smiles at you and goes to fetch your breakfast. When he’s delivered it though and left you for university his mind can’t help but go to all the pain you’d suffered and the more he dwells on it the keener he feels to go and book an appointment with Magnussen. He doesn’t get the opportunity though until late that afternoon, once all his lectures are done for the day. 

 

As he enters the reception area he susses things out and takes in the untidy group of magazines on the low coffee table that’s in between the seats and the even untidier man who has floppy, dirty brown hair. He’s hunched over in his seat, poring through one of the magazines with his grubby fingers and dirty fingernails, his body enshrouded in a light brown coat that has a furry hood. 

 

The man’s the only one there aside from the receptionist and Mycroft goes across to her now. 

 

She averts her gaze from the computer screen that she’s been staring at and looks at him. 

 

Mycroft clears his throat and shifts his position a little. For as much as he’s been thinking about what he’ll say he hasn't really come up with a firm, definitive plan. He’s mostly just had that incessant urge to come to this place all day. Finally he settles on, “Hello, I was wondering if I could make an appointment to see Dr. Magnussen?” 

 

“May I take your name?” she asks, looking back across at the computer screen. 

 

“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft says automatically, before he adds, “It’s not for myself though”- she looks up at him-“Rather I just wish to have a quick word with him about someone who already comes here. I'm a little concerned”-

 

“Patient confidentiality is taken with the utmost seriousness at this practice. You won’t be able to discuss a patient’s individual case I'm afraid,” she says, looking at him sceptically. 

 

“You fail to understand me,” Mycroft interrupts, shifting his position and feeling a little frustrated with himself for not being able to get what he wants across. “I know the individual concerned, I'm very close to her in fact. I merely wanted to make a couple of suggestions to Dr. Magnussen, not to intrude.” The receptionist still doesn’t look satisfied, so Mycroft runs a frustrated kind of hand through his hair, before he huffs out, “Maybe you could just see when Dr. Magnussen’s free and I can take it from there when I speak to him myself?” 

 

She raises one of her dark eyebrows as if she’s not quite sure what to make of this person in front of her who’s still not somehow quite a man and who’s insisting on bossing her about. Then she nods and turns her gaze back to the computer. Mycroft sighs in relief. “When were you thinking of?” 

 

“Um as soon as possible. Tomorrow perhaps?” Mycroft suggests, stepping closer to the desk. 

 

Again she looks at him as if she’s not quite sure what to make of him. Then she lowers her gaze back to the computer screen. 

 

A moment later, after some clicking, she looks back up at him and says, “I'm sorry but we don’t have any appointments free tomorrow.”

 

Mycroft swallows. “The next day then?” he attempts, starting to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach. 

 

She looks back at the computer screen. Then she tuts a moment later and scrolls down some more, biting a little at her lip as she does so. 

 

Mycroft shifts his position uncomfortably. 

 

“I'm afraid that there aren't any appointments available for the rest of the week,” she says once she looks back up at him again. 

 

Mycroft frowns. “Next week then?” 

 

She lets out a bit of a breath, and though she looks back at the computer, half-heartedly tapping away, Mycroft knows what she’s about to say even before she says it. So when she looks back at him and gives him a little shake of her head, before she says, “Sorry, I'm afraid that Dr. Magnussen’s unavailable for the foreseeable future” he’s not surprised to hear it. 

 

He is disappointed that he’s facing this problem in the first place though, and he stares into her brown eyes steadily for a moment, trying to figure out why he’s being confronted with this barrier, which he hadn't expected. She gives him a bit of an apologetic smile and a shrug, before she turns back to the computer screen. Mycroft sighs a little, no satisfying reason coming to him as to why he might be facing this issue. All he can conclude is that something deeper is going on here and he doesn’t like it.

 

In the end he just gives her one last calculating look and leaves. 

 

*

 

On his way back to the house he feels all the more puzzled about things and uncomfortable than ever before, and as such feelings brim inside him he feels keener to see you than ever. 

 

When he gets back and goes to your room he sees that you’re looking a little more alert than you’d done this morning, sitting up in bed with a bit of a more healthy glow to your cheeks. He can’t help but notice though that you look as troubled as he feels. 

 

“Hello,” he says softly, attempting to prise you out of such thought. 

 

Your head turns to him instantly and your face brightens a little upon seeing him, something that makes Mycroft feel pleased at once. “Hey, how are you? What have I missed out on?” you ask. 

 

Mycroft feels his face doing something that he doesn’t want it to by becoming more uncertain. “Not much,” he says, hoping that you won’t notice anything’s amiss, for whilst he doesn’t feel comfortable not telling you the truth he also doesn’t feel comfortable telling you about his attempts to see Magnussen either. He doesn’t want to worry you for one thing but nor does he want you to think that he’s simply over-reacting and interfering. 

 

Still, he can tell from the flicker of something that crosses your face that you _have_ picked up on the fact that something’s wrong, and he feels glad when he has a brief moment of bringing the chair over to your bed so that he doesn’t have to look at you. 

 

Once he’s sitting down on it beside you he says, “Besides I think it’s me who should be asking how you’re feeling,” before you can ask him about anything. 

 

A flicker of a smile crosses your face and Mycroft feels relief that he may have led you off the scent when he sees it. But then your face becomes more troubled. “Better,” you tell him, looking away from him and towards the door instead. Then you look back at him and confess, “I still don’t get last night though.”

 

Mycroft swallows, not knowing what to say. For he doesn’t want to make you feel as if he’s not listening to you or not taking you seriously, especially since in one sense he couldn't be taking it any _more_ seriously, but at the same time he knows rationally that it’s highly unlikely that you’d seen Moriarty last night. So he takes your hand and simply strokes it for a moment. “I think you probably had the onset of that fever coming on and it wreaked havoc with your mind,” he says, staring down at your hands as he talks, before he looks back up at you. 

 

You swallow. “Maybe it wasn't Moriarty I saw,” you confess, pulling your hand away from his, before you go on a little shakily, “M-Maybe that bit _was_ all in my mind, but something more than the fever must have triggered it, and I know you think that there weren't any people there wearing Scream masks, but I swear, I _swear_ Mycroft there were.” 

 

He swallows. “What exactly did you see?” he asks, giving you a chance to tell him from your perspective. 

 

You huff out a bit of a breath and he takes your hand in his again, tangling your fingers together. “There were six people standing in a half-circle around me. All of them were wearing cloaks and Scream masks, a-and one of them was around Moriarty’s height”-

 

“That doesn’t mean”- Mycroft attempts to reassure you. 

 

“I know,” you say, and when your words come out more snappily than you’d intended them to you quickly add, “Sorry,” before you swallow and go on, “I know it doesn’t mean that it was him. But there was just something about him”-

 

 _“What?”_ Mycroft asks. 

 

“I don’t know,” you struggle, before you shrug, “The energy about him maybe…it was just odd.”

 

Mycroft swallows. “Do you want to know what I saw when I got there?” he asks, and you nod. “When I got there I just saw a bunch of ordinarily dressed people, a couple of them looked a little alarmed by the state you were in”- you blush a little bit-“But there was definitely nothing odd that I picked up about any of them. I know I didn't look at any of them for long, but…well, I think I would have noticed something,” Mycroft finishes, looking at you rather firmly. 

 

You swallow and nod. “I know,” you say, before you add, “Thank you for last night by the way.”

 

“It was nothing,” Mycroft says, dismissing the gesture and standing up now. 

 

“It wasn't,” you tell him, and he places his hands upon your shoulders and bends his head so that he can kiss you on the forehead. 

 

“Are you coming down for a bit of dinner?” he asks. 

 

You nod, before you make to swing out of bed. 

 

*

 

It’s not until Bonfire Night that something strange happens again. 

 

You've fully recovered from your fever and Mycroft and you have barely mentioned what had happened at Halloween again, only referencing it when Mycroft suggested, “I'm not saying that you shouldn't go out F/N, I want you to go out and enjoy yourself, but after what happened I can’t help think that it might be wise if you stayed home on Bonfire Night. I could stay with you and we could have a nice evening without going out.” You’d both felt immediately troubled and rebellious about the idea, before you’d recognised that in actual fact Mycroft was right. Then you’d huffed out a sigh as you’d nodded. 

 

Mycroft had been able to tell that you’d been disappointed by the fact though, and that once more you’d felt annoyed with the slowness of your progress. He’d felt determined to make sure you have a good night. 

 

So he’d come up with a plan after doing some more research on his laptop. He’d asked Gregory if he had any suggestions, and he frowns now, as he starts to prepare dinner, when he remembers how Gregory had just told him to look it up on his laptop, before he’d gone past him and walked out of the room. 

 

Before he can think upon how that had been rather strange though, there comes a knock upon the door. 

 

Everyone else isn't coming back to the house tonight; they’re just going straight on to the firework display, whilst you’re still at your last lecture. Mycroft lets out a little breath, before he stares momentarily down at the red and yellow peppers he’s been chopping up. 

 

He pushes his hair back with his wrist, before he hurries to the door with his sleeves still rolled up, whilst he wonders whom it could be. 

 

“Dr. Magnussen,” the stranger introduces himself as soon as Mycroft opens the door, and Mycroft’s eyes widen at this unexpected surprise, before they do so even more when Magnussen pushes past him and makes to go towards the dining room. 

 

Mycroft closes the door and turns around, adjusting his maroon coloured braces, before he hurries after him. 

 

Magnussen’s standing close to the dining table, looking around the room and making little humming noises to himself. 

 

Mycroft’s just about to speak when Magnussen looks at him. The effect of having the man’s cold eyes looking at him so suddenly makes a little breath leave Mycroft’s lips. 

 

“I heard that you have some concerns,” Magnussen says.

 

“Yes, that’s right I”- Mycroft begins in a flustered fashion. 

 

“If you’re that concerned about my methods Mr. Holmes then might I make the suggestion that you come pick F/N up after her next session with me? That way you’ll be able to see that there’s nothing wrong and the path that F/N’s going down is merely a bit of a longer one than you’d expected,” Magnussen finishes tersely. 

 

Mycroft frowns. “I know it will take time,” he confesses, adjusting his position. “That wasn't what I”-

 

“Save it Mr. Holmes,” Magnussen says, raising a hand, before he turns and walks, coming to a stop at the back of the table. He peers down at it, running a finger thoughtfully across its edge. 

 

Mycroft just stares at him for a moment, wondering what the hell’s going on and feeling all the more annoyed when he can’t tell anything about Magnussen just by looking at him. Then, pulling himself together and thinking that he should probably be making use of this opportunity to talk, he says, “I'm not making a complaint. I just happen to think that the methods you’re using aren't best served in light of what’s happened with F/N. I'm sure if you were to just”-

 

“ ‘Aren't best served?’” Magnussen quips with a bit of a laugh, before he says, “Let me ask you something Mr. Holmes. Are you an expert in making someone better?” 

 

“No”-

 

“Are you an expert in feelings?” 

 

 _“No,”_ Mycroft flushes. 

 

“Are you an expert in knowing what to say and do in the odd, peculiar little relationship that you’re having with F/N?” 

 

Mycroft ducks his head, feeling both crushed and embarrassed now, and his fingers clench automatically. 

 

“Then let me do my job,” Magnussen says in a soft murmur, coming closer to him. He’s right behind Mycroft when he says, “And then maybe if you do you’ll get the chance to shag her after all.” Mycroft’s head jerks upwards now. “That’s what this is really about isn't it?” Magnussen asks, “You seeing how long you can wait, before you can stick your penis inside her?” A muscle twitches in Mycroft’s jaw now, before his fists clench all the more. 

 

Magnussen chuckles softly. His breath hits Mycroft’s cheek. “Sorry if I’ve embarrassed you sweetheart,” Magnussen breathes, his hand going around Mycroft’s, before he uncurls it. Mycroft jerks away from him, turning to face him with a calculating expression on his face. “But that’s what it looks like from this angle, and if I can see it then what’s to say that F/N won’t be able to see it that way with a little persuasion too?” 

 

“If you _dare_ ”- Mycroft begins, his breath trembling now. 

 

“If I dare _what?”_ Magnussen asks, raising his hands placatingly, before he lowers them again as he looks at Mycroft with raised eyebrows. “I'm just her counsellor. I touch the only thing that I have power to, which is her mind. But if _you_ dare however”- and he deliberately breaks off now. Then he sends Mycroft a bit of a challenging look, before he first leaves the room and then the house. 

 

Mycroft looks after him, knowing as he does so that, that was Magnussen warning him that if he tries to interfere or make things difficult in your sessions with him then he’ll do whatever he can to ensure that he won’t have a relationship with you in the future. 

 

He swallows and takes a few deep breaths, feeling rattled. Then he catches sight of the time and his eyes automatically go back to the feeble beginning that he’d made to prepare the dinner. You’ll be back soon. He bits at his lip. Then, knowing what he wants to do he ignores both of those things, tugs his phone out of his pocket and calls Father. 

 

“Mycroft, is everything all right?” is what Father says as soon as he answers. 

 

“Yes Father, I was just wondering where you got Magnussen’s card from that’s all,” Mycroft lies, trying to keep his voice as conversational as possible. 

 

There’s a bit of a pause. “It was just handed out at work, that’s all. I kept hold of it just in case,” comes his father’s rather cool reply, and Mycroft feels surprised because it sounds like his father’s trying to be casual too. 

 

He doesn’t have time to question it however for he hears the sound of the door. “Father I’ve got to go”-

 

“You’re sure that everything’s all right?” 

 

It’s Mycroft’s turn to pause now. “Yes, yes everything’s fine,” he says, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his position.

 

“Bye then Mycroft,” Father says, again in that slightly cool voice, and Mycroft can tell that father doesn’t believe him. 

 

“Bye,” he says, before he hurriedly disconnects the call just as you walk in. “That was Father,” he says in response to your unspoken question as he slides the phone back into his pocket. 

 

“What are you doing?” you ask when your eyes catch sight of the half-chopped peppers, “It’s not your turn to cook.”

 

“Neither is it yours,” he says, striding across so that he can continue with his preparations, “Since I was back first I rather thought that it made sense for me to ensure that neither of us starved.” There’s a little pause and you use it to join him by the counters. “Sorry,” he says, turning to you slightly now, “I’d rather hoped that I’d be a lot further on by the time you got home.”

 

“Is everything all right?” you ask with your brow furrowing, and Mycroft stills now, the knife hovering above the yellow pepper and his shoulders tense. “With your Father I mean?” you try to clarify. 

 

“Oh, yes,” Mycroft says, his face clearing somewhat, whilst his hand brings the knife down automatically to chop at some of the pepper. 

 

“And generally?” you ask, standing close to the sink and looking anxiously across at him. Mycroft stills, the knife close to the chopping board. “You seemed a little tense just now.”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just want to make sure that you have a nice evening that’s all,” Mycroft says, though his stomach squirms a little as he does so. For he hates not telling you everything when he’s been the one pestering you so much about being honest and open with him. But he’s not doing so for your own good. Besides there’s little point in worrying you unless he absolutely has to he tells himself. 

 

You look at him for a moment longer, studying him, and Mycroft thinks for a moment that you've seen through him and that you’re going to push the issue. But then you nod, before a little smile creeps over your face as you suggest, “Perhaps we can cook together then?” 

 

Mycroft lets out a little breath, nods and smiles. 

 

*

 

Cooking together’s nice. Yes you fumble around each other a bit and nearly bump into one another, but the little smiles that you share whenever you do so and the odd playful moments that you have, with you hurrying to beat Mycroft to a drawer, are nice. 

 

Eating together’s nice too, and even though you know that you’re just inside the house Mycroft’s got this white tablecloth from somewhere and draped it over the table, adding a candle to its centre, so it feels like you’re on a date even though you’re just friends. 

 

The conversation between you both may not flow all the time, but when it happens it’s both natural and easy, and you truly feel comfortable and relaxed as you sit opposite him, admiring the soft glow of his hair in the candle light and how attractive he looks in his braces with the sleeves of his white shirt still rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. 

 

“Is everything all right?” Mycroft asks, looking up at you from his dinner with a bit of a tentative smile on his face. 

 

“Yes,” you nod, brushing your hair back a little, before feeling as if you should say more you add, “All of this is really nice, thank you.”

 

Mycroft smiles and eats another mouthful, before he says, “Oh, that reminds me,” and he lays his cutlery down on his plate now, before he wipes at his mouth with his napkin. Then he gets up out of his chair and says, “I better start preparing the next phase of the evening. Please excuse me.”

 

“At least finish your meal,” you protest, but he’s already gone, and you hear him making his way upstairs. 

 

Feeling puzzled you go back to your meal. You've finished it by the time he returns, looking a little frazzled, and you frown a little because if you’re not mistaken then his arms look a little wet too.

 

“What”- you begin. 

 

“If you are ready to proceed then your bath is waiting for you upstairs Madam,” Mycroft says, putting on an accent now as his face smoothes and becomes more relaxed. Then he strides to your chair and helps pull it back as you get up. 

 

“My bath?” you ask, looking at him questioningly. 

 

He doesn’t say another word on the subject. Instead he just smiles and waves a hand, telling you to proceed. 

 

You give him a bit of a smile of your own, before you move out of the room and go slowly upstairs. 

 

Just pushing the bathroom door open makes you gasp a little. For candles have been placed delicately around the bath, giving the room its only light, and their soft glow along with the bath that’s full to the brim with bubbles couldn't look any more inviting. 

 

You go back to your room to fetch your pyjamas and dressing gown, thinking that you’ll slip into them after your bath. Then you close the bathroom door behind you and free yourself from your clothes. You slowly sink down into the bath. It’s so warm and pleasant that it makes you let out a little groan of pleasure, and soon you’re lying there, completely covered by the bubbles and feeling utterly relaxed, whilst you thank the stars for Mycroft. 

 

*

 

Mycroft moves into the living room after he finishes the rest of his meal and deals with the washing and drying up. There he sets up his laptop on the coffee table. 

 

Once it’s on and all he needs is your presence so that he can proceed he leans back a little in the settee and begins to think over Magnussen’s words again. Apart from the threat that Magnussen had made just before he’d left, one of the things that he feels most incensed by is how quickly Magnussen had picked up on one of his main vulnerabilities, which is of course the fact that he doesn’t always know what he’s supposed to do or say around you. His hands clench up a little, and he can’t help but feel irritated by the fact that Magnussen had chosen to come around and say such things on the one evening that he’s trying to do so many nice things for you. He wonders now if he’s doing all right in your opinion so far. Then he wonders automatically if you’re upstairs in the bath right now shaking your head and wondering how he could have got it all so wrong. He frowns, shifting his position and beginning to worry about things again. 

 

In fact he gets so lost in his head about it all that he doesn’t even hear you enter the room at first, nor does he realize that you've just been standing by the doorway watching him for a couple of minutes. 

 

It’s only when you say, “You’re looking thoughtful,” that he finally snaps out of his daze and turns to look at you. 

 

You’re in your pyjamas and dressing gown, and with your hair damp and tousled and your skin looking rosy from the bath he feels an instant pull of attraction towards you. He swallows. “Hmm,” is all he can manage then as you sit down beside him. You sit so that your legs go off to the side of you on the settee, before you lean across so that you can press a soft kiss to his cheek. Mycroft swallows again, the smell of your shampoo sending his head spinning. 

 

“Thank you,” you tell him as you pull back. 

 

Mycroft nods at you, clears his throat and gives you a quick smile, before he turns his attention hurriedly back to the laptop. He shifts forwards and pulls it closer, before he clicks onto the Internet. He clears his throat again, before he clicks onto one of his saved bookmarks, which takes you through to YouTube. Then he waits for the video to load up, before he puts it on full screen mode and presses play. 

 

“Fireworks,” you breathe, before you tilt your head down so that it’s resting against his shoulder as you watch the multitude of colours that burst out across the screen in front of you. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft murmurs, slipping his hand on your knee, “I thought since we couldn't go out and see them I’d bring them to us.”

 

You lift your head up from his shoulder now, thinking as you do so that no one’s ever done anything so romantic for you before. As you do move however you feel him stiffening. He swallows in the next moment but doesn’t look at you. Rather he just stares at the screen in a fixated fashion, but you can tell that he’s not seeing any of it. Tell that he’s just waiting to see what you’ll do, and you think that if you were to feel his pulse right then it would be racing. 

 

“Mycroft,” you say so that he’ll look at you. 

 

He swallows. Then he does so. 

 

“Yes?” he murmurs. 

 

You swallow. Then you just stare at each other for a moment, you taking in his eyelashes and the blue of his eyes along with the way that his lips are slightly parted, whilst he takes in how intently you’re looking at him. 

 

“Don’t be afraid,” you tell him, and then, just as his eyes begin to widen, you close the gap between you and cup his cheek with your hand, before you press a soft kiss to his lips. 

 

You can feel him hesitating, so you press your lips against his all the more insistently. The action seems to work and he turns more on his side towards you, one of his hands going up to cradle your face, whilst the other goes to rest on your waist as he kisses you back. 

 

Your legs tangle together, whilst your lips slide experimentally against each other’s, both of you testing the amount of pressure that you can apply, before it causes the other to let out a sound. 

 

Then you turn towards each other more, and your chests rub against each other’s, whist your hands move to clutch at his shoulders and his go to cup your cheeks. 

 

It’s only when you find yourself beginning to lean back that you finally pull away, saying, “That’s all I can manage for now,” as you do so. 

 

Mycroft nods, but his eyes dart down to your lips once more, as if he’s seeking your reassurance about what’s just happened. You kiss him briefly again. 

 

“Is that okay?” you ask, before you start a little as the final firework explodes onto Mycroft’s laptop screen. 

 

He nods, a little dazed expression on his face, and you smile at him, before you settle down against each other once more, resting your head against his shoulder. 

 

“Are we?”- Mycroft begins, turning his head so that his chin brushes against the top of your hair. 

 

“If you want,” you say, toying with his fingers and trying to sound casual about it all even though on the inside your heart is racing. 

 

Mycroft’s heart is racing too. He thinks about it all for a moment and tries to quickly sort things out into sense around the part of his mind that’s still on the way your lips had felt upon his. 

 

Seeing that he’s trying to work things out you lift your head out from underneath his and say, “I know I'm not better yet, and I know that we said that we’d wait before doing anything until I properly was, but I think that if we take things slowly then that might go some way to making me better too.”

 

“That’s what you really want? You’re not just suggesting it because you think I want it?” Mycroft asks, before he adds, “I didn't do all of this tonight because I was expecting anything from you in return F/N,” as he brushes a strand of hair back from your face. 

 

“I know you didn't,” you tell him, “As long as we go slowly, and there might be days when I just need space or whatever”-

 

“But I’ve been getting better at that haven’t I? At knowing when to give you space, and I think we've been getting along better because of it,” Mycroft tentatively ventures. 

 

“Yes you have, and yes _we_ have,” you say with a bit of a smile, “So if you, well I mean if you wanted to try again, but really slowly then yes I’d like to.”

 

Mycroft swallows, his heart flipping over. But then Magnussen’s visit comes back into his mind and he hesitates. For if he says yes now and you go telling Magnussen that you’re together in that way what will he make of it? Will he think that he’s challenging him? Might he react and try to hurt you emotionally because of it? Mycroft swallows again then, knowing full well in that moment that he can’t say yes, no matter how much he wants to, for your own protection if for nothing else. He swallows, his heart sinking back down into his chest. Then he clears his throat and shifts away from you so that you’re no longer touching. 

 

_“Mycroft?”_

 

“I-I think for now, although what we did just now was nice, and although I of course still want to be with you in that way at some point, that for now it’s sensible to just keep things as they are,” he reels out, staring at his knees as he talks and hating himself for having to say such things and for not being able to give you what you want. 

 

Your reaction is immediate. Feeling hurt you scramble back, before you get to your feet, and an, “Oh,” escapes your lips as you do so. 

 

 _“F/N”-_ Mycroft begins, looking at you again and making to get up himself. 

 

“No,” you say, halting him by raising your hand, “You've made things clear.” Then you turn and hurry out of there. 

 

Mycroft sighs, running his hands back through his hair, before his gaze goes back to the laptop screen. He clicks off the Internet just a moment later. 

 

*

 

You've been crying on your bed in an attempt to lesson some of the hurt that you've been feeling, but as soon as you hear Molly going into her room you swing upwards and pad out of your room, feeling like you need her advice and comfort. 

 

“F/N,” she says with surprise in her voice as soon as you walk into her room. She turns around from where she’s been sliding her watch off her arm and onto her bedside cabinet to look at you. 

 

“Molly, I really need to talk to you, it’s Mycroft, he”- you blurt out hurriedly, before you break off when Molly lets out a bit of a sigh. 

 

“Not everything should always be about you F/N,” she says, clenching her hands a little as she sinks down onto the edge of her bed. 

 

“I-I”- you stumble out, feeling both hurt and surprised by her words. 

 

“Things didn't go well with Greg tonight, so as sorry as I am for whatever’s happened between Mycroft and you, I think I’d rather just think about my own problems for now,” she confesses, her hands clawing onto her legs as she stares at a spot on the floor. 

 

You swallow. “What happened?” you ask, coming forwards. 

 

She huffs out a breath. Then she closes her eyes as she begins to talk. 

 

*

 

It had been going well. That’s what Molly had thought. She’d known that things had been a little tense at times between Greg and her recently, but they’d chatted quite amenably on their way to the fireworks display, even laughing a bit at the sight of Sherlock and John who had bounded along in front of them. 

 

The fireworks had been beautiful, and as she’d stood there close to Greg with their hands shoved in their coat pockets and their elbows brushing against each other’s, whilst they’d gazed into the sky, Molly had felt hopeful about everything. 

 

It had been on their way back to the house when things had gone wrong. Greg had just finished eating a hot dog and thrown its wrapper away and she’d just linked her arm through his as she'd wondered, “I wonder what F/N and Mycroft got up to tonight?” when he’d stopped and huffed out a breath. “Greg?” she’d asked, before she’d let go of him. 

 

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he’d blurted out, turning towards her. Then when she’d looked puzzled he’d gone on, “We can never just have a nice moment without you bringing them up”-

 

“I'm trying to be a good friend,” Molly had protested indignantly, her brows furrowing, “Whilst F/N gets better and Mycroft and her figure out their relationship.”

 

“Never mind Mycroft and her. I think it’s us who need to figure things out,” Greg had said, full of frustration, before he’d turned away from her. 

 

“Greg”-

 

“You put them before us!” he yells, turning back to her, “Always,” he huffs out, “You _always_ do, and yes I like the fact that you care, and I like F/N you know I do, but do you really think that she’d do all that for you? That she really appreciates everything you do for her? Because I don’t, and I don’t think I can do this any more.”

 

“You’re breaking up with me?” Molly asks, after a moment’s silence had passed between them, and her throat had already felt tight. 

 

Greg had just looked at her for a moment. “Yeah, yeah I am,” he’d said, and with that he’d turned away from her and begun to walk off in the opposite direction to the house.

 

*

 

You just stare at Molly feeling rather dumbstruck when she stops talking. Not to mention pained that from the sounds of it Greg had broken up with her just because she wanted to help Mycroft and you. 

 

You can’t know that Molly’s concluded the scene early, breaking it off so that she doesn’t have to tell you how she’d called, ‘For some one who’s thinking of maybe becoming a police officer you’re not being a very good friend right now,’ after him, or the way that Greg had turned back to her, whilst something that was both sad and serious had shined in his eyes, before he’d walked off again. 

 

As these things come back to her she can’t help but say, “He was right about some things though,” before, “About a lot of things actually.” She looks at you now and you swallow. “I haven’t always been paying attention to him as much as I should. When everything happened at Halloween he was worried, of course he was, but as soon as he saw that Mycroft was taking care of things he was able to take more of a step back from it. Able to let Mycroft take control. But I”- and now she breaks off and shakes her head a little- “I just couldn't. I had to get back and see how you were. But I should have just stayed with Greg because when I got back to the house Mycroft was in control of everything and you were in bed. There was nothing that I could have done…sometimes I think that caring isn't an advantage,” she sniffs, “And when you care too much like I do it’s even worse.” You swallow. “I think that I’d like to be alone now F/N. I’ll be willing to try and help Mycroft and you in the morning, but for now I just want to be on my own,” she says, and you give her a jerky sort of nod, before you stumble backwards out of the room. 

 

*

 

You don’t get much sleep that night. You spend most of it lying on your back and staring at the ceiling, whilst you feel guilty. Of course you still feel hurt too because of what had happened between Mycroft and you earlier. But oddly that issue doesn’t feel as big as it once did. For you know that Mycroft and you will be together romantically one day after all, it’s just a matter of what day that will be. Rather it’s the fact that you might have inadvertently helped to ruin a relationship between two of your closest friends that your mind can’t get away from, and you feel more like a bad friend the more that you think on it. For all this time you’d just assumed that everything had been going fine between Molly and Greg. You hadn't even thought to ask her about it. Hadn't even thought that things might be going wrong. You’d just been wrapped up in yourself and your own problems. You turn onto your side now. 

 

*

 

You’re the second one down to breakfast that following morning, after Mycroft, and as soon as he sees you he says, “F/N”- from where he’s sitting by the table. 

 

“It’s fine,” you tell him, raising a hand and going to sit down beside him. Then you take his free hand in yours and say, “You’re right, we shouldn't be together in that way right now. It’s my fault, I wasn't thinking clearly last night. Everything you did for me was so nice that I think I just got carried away.”

 

 _“Really?”_ he asks, sounding both surprised and relieved by your reaction as he studies you. 

 

You nod, before you lower your voice into a conspiratory whisper as you say, “Listen, Molly and Greg broke up last night”- Mycroft raises his eyebrows-“I feel really bad about it because from what Molly told me it sounds like some of it was partly our fault. Molly’s been trying to help us and she’s been thinking too much about that and not about her own relationship”-

 

Mycroft’s brow furrows. “She shouldn't have said”-

 

“No, it’s all right,” you tell him, shifting your hand slightly against his, “She was just being honest. But I’d really like to try and make things better between them if I can. Are you up for helping me?” 

 

Mycroft barely hesitates. “Of course,” he says, feeling a little encouraged by how focused and determined you seem to be to help your friends. 

 

You smile; before you go on to share your idea with him. 

 

Then, once everyone else is down and around the table and you spot sight of how Greg and Molly can barely look at each other and the way that Sherlock keeps rolling his eyes at the pair of them, you announce, “I thought since we had a Christmas party last year we could have another one here this year.”

 

Greg shrugs non-commitedly and Sherlock gives another roll of his eyes, but Molly reacts far more positively when she gives a little smile as she looks at you quickly and nods. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile says quite loudly, “Well I think that’s a very good idea F/N. Could I possibly help you organise it?” just as you’d encouraged him to do so when you’d been plotting together. But because he wants so badly to do what you’d wanted him to it all comes out sounding very staged. You let out a snort because of it, as does Sherlock, before you rub at Mycroft’s hand reassuringly when he looks at you questioningly. 

 

Mycroft’s lip quirks upward, and his eyes dart to your lips automatically. 

 

You smile at the sight of them doing so, before, still feeling a bit hesitant after last night, and despite what you’d told Mycroft earlier, you look down. 

 

“Oh lord,” Sherlock begins, “I see that our ‘just friends’ got a little more friendly last night,” and he looks at you teasingly, because if he looks at his brother just after saying such a thing then he’ll quite possibly be sick. 

 

You blush and Molly looks in between both Mycroft and you with surprise on her face, whilst Greg scowls down into his cereal.

 

Mycroft shifts his position and you exchange a little tentative smile with each other now, you giving Mycroft the go-ahead to look back at his brother and confess, “Boundaries were breached a little bit yes.” You snort a little again. 

 

“ _‘Boundaries were breached?’”_ Sherlock exclaims with raised eyebrows, before he comments, “I see that you've moved on from the world of banking to a more Naval approach with your relationship metaphors. God knows what would come out of your mouth if you finally slept with F/N,” and both Mycroft and you suffer from a serious case of pink tingeing to your cheeks, before you both look in opposite directions to one another. 

 

Mycroft clears his throat a little. “In any case F/N and I still share the opinion that though we got a little carried away last night”- Sherlock pulls a face now-“We’re going to continue as we have been doing.”

 

“So, um, just how much _were_ boundaries breached last night then?” Molly asks with a bit of a small smile toying about her lips, not being able to help herself, and Greg instantly huffs out a breath, which makes her frown, before he gets up and makes to leave for university. 

 

Sherlock gets up a moment later, hurrying after him with a cry of, “Wait up Gerald!” something which makes Greg let out a long, exasperated groan, and you hear both Sherlock and him beginning to bicker, before the door closes shut behind them. 

 

Mycroft and you exchange a rather awkward look with each other a moment later as Molly keeps her attention determinedly on the pair of you. 

 

“Um, well it was just, it was just a bit of a little kiss really wasn't it?” you get out, looking at Mycroft for his approval now. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft says, clearing his throat a little, “But hopefully it will be one of many to come in the future,” he adds, attempting to make up more for last night, for even though you’d said that you were fine with it he senses that you must be disappointed all the same. You smile, you can’t help it. “Right,” Mycroft says, patting you on the hand and leaning across to kiss you briefly on the forehead, “I better go. I’ll see you later.”

 

You nod, before you awkwardly look at Molly again once Mycroft leaves. “Sorry,” you say, knowing that the last few moments must have been uncomfortable for her to witness so soon after she’d broken up with Greg. 

 

“No, no it’s fine, I'm really happy for you F/N,” she says, patting at your hand quickly, before she adds, “Though I am a little confused. You seemed upset last night?”

 

You swallow and your hands fidget a little, before you say, “Oh, well, yeah, after it happened I sort of asked Mycroft if he wanted to start doing things in that direction again, but he was sensible enough to see that it wasn't the best thing to do right now, and after thinking more about it I have to agree.”

 

Molly stares at you for a moment. Then, when she can see that you are really mostly fine with it, she says, “Well I'm glad that you got things sorted out anyway,” before she adds a little more awkwardly, “Thank you about the party too. I know why you suggested it and I'm grateful.”

 

“I know I haven’t been the best of friends”-

 

“Can we just forget about what either of us have or haven’t done for each other in the past and move on?” she asks. 

 

You nod, and then the two of you exchange a smile, before you make to get up so that you can both walk up to the university together. 

 

*

 

Mycroft meanwhile can see Gregory and Sherlock up ahead of him, and the more he stares at the back of Gregory the more resolute he becomes about catching up with them and trying to sort this out. 

 

“Gregory?” he calls, increasing his pace so that he might catch up with them. 

 

Sherlock looks around at his voice, but he soon gives a little start and faces the front again when Gregory starts to walk more quickly. 

 

Mycroft huffs out a frustrated breath. There’s nothing for it he knows. He’ll have to jog if he wants to catch up with them. 

 

He does so hurriedly, and when he finally draws level with them, panting a little, he breathes, “Gregory?”

 

Gregory swallows, before he slows down his pace a little. “What is it Mycroft?” he asks a little tersely, whilst Sherlock peers around his body at his brother. 

 

Mycroft swallows and takes a moment as they continue to walk to get his breath back. Then he says, “I wanted to say how sorry I am about Molly and you, if”-

 

“I don’t want to talk about it”- Gregory interrupts roughly, his face fixed on the pavement ahead. 

 

Mycroft swallows. Then, not feeling too deterred he continues, “If you broke up because what was going on with F/N and I put pressure on you both then I'm even sorrier.” Gregory just shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We can still be friends can’t we? You've been ever so helpful to me and I”-

 

“Yes we can still be friends,” Gregory says huffing out a bit of a breath now and sounding moody. Mycroft opens his mouth, but Gregory gets there first with the words, “I just don’t want to deal with all your relationship drama any more when I’ve got enough of my own.” 

 

Mycroft closes his mouth and swallows. Then he says, “Let me try and help you, talk to me about”-

 

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now about anything,” Gregory says, before he strides off on his own once they reach the university campus. 

 

The Holmes brothers stop and stare after him.

 

Sherlock adjusts the strap of his bag and looks sideways at his brother who’s staring after Gregory with a troubled expression on his face. “He’ll come round,” he says. 

 

Mycroft nods, before they part and trudge off to their respective lectures. 

 

* 

 

A few days later Gregory knocks on the door of Mycroft’s bedroom one night, before he tentatively slips inside. 

 

Mycroft, who had been studying quietly by his desk is surprised to see him, not to mention a little apprehensive too. “Gregory,” he says, swivelling around in his chair so that he can face him, “What can I do for you?” 

 

Gregory shifts his position, looking awkward and like he’s in two minds about what to say. Then he gets out, “Listen Mycroft, I, well, I probably shouldn't have spoken to you like that the other day and I'm, I guess I'm sorry about that.” 

 

Mycroft nods and stares consideringly at his friend for a moment. “Are you going to talk to Molly?” he asks. 

 

Gregory shifts his position again. “No,” he shrugs, “I think, I think we’re better off on a break at the moment.”

 

“I'm very sorry”- Mycroft begins to get out sincerely, but-

 

“Don’t, please don’t,” Gregory urges him. Then when Mycroft nods acceptingly he frowns for a moment. “She just, she just gets too worked up about things sometimes and I don’t, it was getting to the point where I just couldn't relax properly with her any more”-

 

“Because she was worrying too much about F/N?” Mycroft questions evenly. 

 

_“I”-_

 

“You were starting to resent her,” Mycroft goes on, and it’s not a question. 

 

Gregory shrugs a little, feeling awkward. He looks down. Then when a prominent sort of pause forms between them he looks up again and says, “You know I have nothing against F/N, it’s just Molly was so…”

 

“I think I understand Gregory,” Mycroft says when Gregory looks like he’s struggling to find the words. Gregory nods. 

 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care, I still would be there for the both of you if you were in trouble or anything, I just, I just can’t deal with all this constant drama y’know?” Gregory tries to explain. 

 

Mycroft feels a ripple of irritation go through him at such words. “I bet F/N wishes that she could just as easily escape from it all”-

 

“I didn't mean”- Gregory begins at once, paling now and looking for all the world like Mycroft’s just hit him. “I just meant”- Mycroft raises a hand. _“Mycroft?”_

 

“We’re still friends Gregory, but I think it might be best if you go now,” Mycroft gets out wearily, and after a jerky sort of nod Gregory does so. 

 

Mycroft watches after him, wishing that things didn't always have to be so complicated. 

 

* 

 

 

You’re about five minutes away from the end of your next session with Magnussen when he clears his throat and says, “I know that we agreed to disagree about the matter of Mycroft and you, but before I say no more on the matter I just wanted to show you something.”

 

He gets up now and feeling a little tentative you do so yourself. You follow after him until you’re both standing close to an abstract painting that’s on the wall. 

 

You watch as he carefully lifts the painting aside, revealing a peep-hole that looks out onto the reception area. You swallow. 

 

He peers through it, his lip twitching as he does so. Then he steps back, looks at you steadily and says, “Look through it.”

 

You swallow again. Then you step up to it and go onto your tiptoes so that you can look through it. 

 

Mycroft’s there. That’s the first thing that surprises you. He’s standing by the reception desk and leaning across a little. The receptionist seems to be encouraging him to do so, and when you see how she’s looking at him with a playful expression on her face, her eyes light and sparkling and her tongue sticking out of her mouth something tightens inside you. Instinctively you want to go out there and pull Mycroft away. But in the next moment, and before you can, she adjusts her shirt, making it looser around the top and Mycroft jerks back with a blush on his face. His hands begin to fidget at once and you can see his mouth opening and closing as if he’s stammering out an apology. An apology that she cuts short because in the next moment she reaches across and grasps loosely onto his arm. She gives it a little stroke and you bite down hard onto your lip, your eyes fixing themselves onto Mycroft to see his reaction. Your heart sinks when you see that he now looks flattered. Unable to look at either of them any more you draw your head back. 

 

Magnussen might not know what you've just seen, but you can tell that he’s got a rough idea just from looking at your face. “Do you still think that he’ll wait for you?” he asks. 

 

You don’t know what to think. All you know is that the words, “We kissed the other day,” fall out of your mouth before you can help them, and that instead of sounding excited they just come out hollowly. 

 

“My point”-

 

“I instigated it and he was the one to first say that we shouldn't take things any further and that we should stay friends,” you get out, unable to stop yourself even now from defending him. 

 

“Perhaps because he was already beginning to have doubts about his relationship with you at that point,” Magnussen muses, his hands in his pockets. You look at him curiously. “He was in here the day after Halloween, that’s when they first talked.” Your face clouds up now as you digest that information, and as you remember how Mycroft had acted a little strangely when he’d returned that day something shifts uneasily in your stomach, making you feel sick with both worry and anger. “Didn't he tell you?” Magnussen asks. You swallow, before you shake your head. “Oh dear,” he says. 

 

You leave the room a moment later. 

 

Mycroft, now sitting down, gets up at once when he sees you. “F/N,” he says. 

 

“Hey,” you say, forcing a smile at him, before you lead the way out of the clinic. “You didn't have to pick me up,” you add once he’s caught up with you and as you begin to walk off down the street together. 

 

“Oh,” he says, running a bit of a flustered hand through his hair, whilst you eye him intently, “I thought I would, just for once.” You continue to look at him, not saying anything, and he must sense that something’s amiss for he asks, “Is everything all right? Did the session go as okay as it could have?” 

 

You take another moment just to consider everything. Then, because you just want to get these doubts out of your head as soon as possible if you can, and because you can’t face worrying about them on top of everything else, you stop and turn to him. “You never mentioned that you went to the clinic after what happened at Halloween.”

 

Mycroft’s face pales and he swallows, before he turns to look at you. “I-I didn't want to alarm you,” he begins, whilst he doesn’t wonder how you’d found out, for it’s obvious to him that Magnussen must have told you. Rather he just wonders what else the man might have said. 

 

You swallow, biting at your lip, “Why did you go there?” you ask. 

 

“I was worried,” Mycroft confesses, “After what happened I thought that if I could just arrange to see him and maybe suggest that he try different techniques with you or something”-

 

“You should have discussed that with me first”-

 

“I just wanted things to calm down for you, and for you to get a chance to properly start to recover,” Mycroft protests, “But the receptionist said that he was all booked up and that there weren't any free appointments.”

 

Something prickles inside you at him mentioning the receptionist. “Did the receptionist say anything else?” you ask. 

 

“No,” Mycroft says, looking at you a little oddly now, and you can’t know that he’s wondering if you somehow suspect or even know about what had just happened between him and the receptionist just now. But you can’t he thinks, for you’d been in the room with Magnussen the whole time. 

 

“So what did you do then?” you ask, meeting his gaze with a firm one of your own.

 

“I went back to the house,” Mycroft says, “To see you.”

 

You swallow and look at him studiously. “Have you been back to the clinic since?” you ask, wanting him to be honest with you now for both of your sakes. 

 

“No,” he says, “Not until today.” You eye him, trying to make sure that he’s being honest. You must be looking at him rather strangely as you do so, for Mycroft asks, “F/N, are you sure that everything’s all right? What else did Magnussen say?” 

 

“Nothing,” you say, turning away from him, “He didn't say anything.” You begin to walk off.

 

Mycroft looks after you, wishing as he does so that there was some way he could hear exactly what Magnussen was saying to you in every session. 

 

*

 

It’s just after lunchtime the following day and Mycroft’s the only one at the house, having chosen to go back there in between his university lectures rather than stay on campus due to the fact that he’s been feeling a little restless and uncomfortable about what had happened the previous day.

 

True you've been fairly normal towards him on the whole, but there’s been something a little odd about the way he’s caught you looking intently at him a couple of times. Especially over breakfast this morning, and though you've been polite and friendly there’s been something a little strained and forced in your voice whenever you've spoken to him. 

 

He’s just attempting to think what might have caused it-for he knows that though you’d been a little upset about him not telling you that he’d been to the clinic on November 1st your behaviour must be down to more than just that-and read through some of his notes and organise them better at the dining table when there comes a knock on the door. Mycroft frowns. Then, thinking of Magnussen he gets up quickly and squares his shoulders, before he strides to the door. He opens it quickly, expecting to see the man with the cold eyes there. But to his surprise it’s not him but Jane the receptionist. 

 

Mycroft starts when he sees her and feels instantly uncomfortable, his mind going back to what had happened yesterday at the clinic. He’d gone there to pick you up, just as Magnussen had suggested that he do so, and he’d been sitting there for a couple of minutes when the receptionist had beckoned him over. He’d noticed that her eyes kept flicking to him in between focusing on this other person that she was talking to, and he’d felt a little puzzled by it. She’d said then that she had something she wanted him to see, before she’d said that Mycroft would only be able to see it if he leaned forward. He’d done so, feeling spurred on by her playful behaviour. It had only been when he’d accidentally glimpsed down her top that he’d stumbled backwards, and only when she’d touched his arm in the way that she had afterwards that he’d realised that she’d done it deliberately. He’d felt both embarrassed and flattered, not to mention a little confused and guilty once you’d come out and started asking all the questions you had. He’d decided then not to tell you about what had occurred, fearing it would only serve to complicate issues, and he’d rather thought that he’d be able to prevent another similar matter from occurring in the future if he avoided the clinic, but now with her having turned up…

 

“Jane,” he says. 

 

She swallows and shifts her position. “Can I come in?” she asks. 

 

Mycroft hesitates and looks around as if the words he’s searching for might be floating in the air. When he looks back at her he sees the expression that she’s wearing is a pleading one however. He feels something inside him start to crumble. “Okay,” he relents, stepping aside. 

 

She comes inside. Then she waits for him to close the door, before she follows him into the dining room. 

 

Mycroft curses himself inwardly when he sees all of his scattered things upon the table. “Excuse me, I was just going over some things,” he says, striding over there and sweeping up all of his papers into a pile, before he puts them to one side of the table. “Can I get you something? A drink maybe?” he asks, turning back towards her. 

 

She’s standing with her hands clasped in front of her and her head slightly bowed. The position she’s in reminds him of how you’d looked one night last year when Sherlock had brought you to him after Moriarty had-after Moriarty had been there. The realization of such a thing makes him feel that sense of guilt again. “How did you know where I live?” he asks, a little more coldly now, as she shakes her head to refuse the drink and slides into a seat by the table. 

 

She swallows. “I looked F/N up on the system.”

 

Mycroft frowns. “Doesn't that go against your high standards of respecting patient confidentiality?” he asks with a cool lightness, slipping into a seat opposite her. She doesn’t reply. Instead she begins to sniff a little and a moment later her shoulders start to shake. _“Jane?”_ he asks. 

 

She looks up at him and Mycroft swallows when he sees that her face is stained with tears. Then he clears his throat a little, before his hand darts into his pocket so that he can pull out a clean handkerchief. He passes it to her in the next moment. She takes it, but before Mycroft can withdraw his hand she cups the back of it with hers, drawing it down onto the table and stroking it. “I knew you were a kind man,” she says. Mycroft swallows. “I thought you might be when you were in just after Halloween. But yesterday I knew for sure.”

 

Mycroft pulls his hand away. Then he fidgets a little with the fabric of his trousers, before he looks up at her and says rather awkwardly, “Jane, as-as flattered as I am by you telling me that I feel I should say, well that is, my feelings lie somewhere else. That is with F/N.”

 

“I know,” she says, letting out a bit of a soft gurgle, before she dabs at her eyes, and Mycroft feels a little relief fill him. “I must have put on a pound because of you last night,” she confesses. 

 

Mycroft, not sure what he should say to that, just wriggles around a little for a moment, before he finally settles on, “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” she sniffs, wrinkling her nose up a little and fisting the handkerchief on the table. “But I wanted to warn you,” she adds, looking at him more seriously. 

 

“ _Warn_ me?” Mycroft questions. 

 

She nods. “I think Magnussen’s manipulating F/N.”

 

Mycroft swallows, his insides feeling cold. “Why do you say that?” he asks. 

 

“Because he did the same with me,” she confesses. Mycroft just stares at her. “I used to be a patient, one of his, I used to be as weak as F/N once”-

 

“F/N’s not”- Mycroft begins defensively.

 

“Vulnerable then,” Jane says and Mycroft nods, grudgingly accepting that statement. “Then I started to get a little stronger, but Magnussen, he’s got a way of keeping you down. I don’t know what he’s doing with F/N, but with me he seemed to build me up just so that he could bring me down again. It’s how he gets his thrills, from controlling us all. Of course he has to let some of us go, let some of us get better, people wouldn't think he was any good otherwise. It’s like Russian Roulette or something,” she sniffs with a weak smile now. “In my case it was worse because he could feel me struggling against him sometimes. That’s why he pushed me into taking the receptionist position here, so that he could keep an eye on me.”

 

“You could have said no,” Mycroft begins a little testily. 

 

“Could I?” she asks, and Mycroft swallows. “He gets inside your head. Maybe you haven’t noticed that with F/N yet but”-

 

Mycroft doesn’t hear the rest of her words, all he can see is you telling him about how Moriarty had become Magnussen. He swallows. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks, cutting her off from where she’d been talking about God knows what. 

 

She swallows. Then she looks straight into his eyes as she says, “Because a lot of people go to Magnussen when they don’t already have anyone. But F/N’s got you, and I don’t know how far she is under Magnussen’s control but maybe you can do something”-

 

 _“What?”_ Mycroft asks a little desperately. 

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Save her I guess.”

 

Mycroft swallows. 

 

“Listen, I need to get back. I’ve already taken a longer lunch break than I should have and Magnussen will start wondering where I am,” she rushes out. 

 

“Can I have your number?” Mycroft asks, studying her. She hesitates. “Please?” She bites at her lip. Then she nods and swallows. 

 

“All right,” she says, “But don’t tell anyone, I don’t want Magnussen finding out about what I told you.” Mycroft nods.

 

Then after they exchange numbers, stand and head towards the door Mycroft feels the need to say rather awkwardly, “Listen Jane, I realize I was a little cool with you just then. But I want you to know that I _do_ appreciate you coming here today and I am truly sorry for what you've been through.”

 

She turns back to him, just before the door. Then she says, “Please don’t carry on calling me Jane, it’s what he’s always called me, what he makes me wear on my name badge.” She flicks at it now. Mycroft’s brow furrows. 

 

“What should I call you then?” he asks. 

 

She thinks about it for a moment. “Anthea,” she says, “That’s what my grandmother was called. I’ve always liked that name.”

 

“Okay, thank you then Anthea,” Mycroft says, the words feeling a little awkward on his tongue. 

 

She smiles at him. Then in the next moment she’s gone. 

 

Mycroft can’t know that as soon as the woman he now knows as Anthea gets up onto the street again after climbing up the steps she pulls out her phone and texts: _It’s done. All went to plan._ Then she curses the fact that she had to cry for part of her mission because it means having to re-do part of her make-up. 

 

*

 

**What exactly did Magnussen do to manipulate you? M.**

 

_Do we really have to talk about that now?_

 

**Yes. Do you really have to give me that response every time? M.**

 

 _Look, it was a big enough deal for me just to go around and tell you what I did in the first place._

 

 **I appreciate that. But if I'm going to really be able to help F/N then the more I know about what he does in these sessions the better. M.**

 

 _I don’t even know you._

 

 **You do. You keep asking me all those stupid questions. M.**

 

 _Hey, asking about your favourite colour isn't stupid. It’s a vital part of getting to know someone._

 

 **Anthea. M.**

 

 _Sorry._

 

 **You keep doing this. Asking me these, ‘getting to know you,’ type questions and then making me believe that you’re going to share something with me if I answer all of them. But you never do. M.**

 

 _I just need to feel like I know you a bit more, that’s all._

 

You frown when you see that Mycroft’s tapping away on his phone again. He seems to have been on it a lot in these past couple of weeks, getting odd text messages or calls at random times. You’d thought that it might have been Mummy at first, checking up on him, but they always seem to come to an abrupt end not long after you walk into the room, and as much as you don’t want to think about it you can’t help but wonder-

 

“Hey,” Mycroft says as soon as you sit down on the settee beside him. Predictably he shoves his phone back into his pocket not long after you do so. 

 

“Talking to anyone nice?” you venture, and you know that you’re not mistaken when you see Mycroft swallow and look a little awkward. 

 

“Just this person in one of my classes. We have to do this assignment together,” Mycroft lies. 

 

You stare at him, your heart sinking as you do so. For again you can’t help but wonder if Magnussen’s right and Mycroft does have feelings for Jane. Wonder if he’s been contacting her…even if he hasn't though, it’s plain to you that he’s clearly keeping something from you, and you can’t help but feel angry because of it. Especially when he’s been the one trying to prise things out of you for so long, and the fact that he’s now the one doing the hiding and being all-secretive makes you feel hurt. Suddenly, as you think about it and all these negative emotions of worry, fear and anger come rushing back to you, you can’t stand being there in the same room as him. You swallow and get back up again. 

 

 _“F/N?”_ Mycroft asks, obviously finding your behaviour odd. 

 

“Sorry,” you say, running a bit of a frustrated hand back through your hair, “I just remembered that I forgot to do something.” You dash off, before you hurry upstairs. 

 

Mycroft frowns after you. Things have continued to be a little odd between you since you came out of Magnussen’s consulting room and started asking him all of those odd questions, and he wonders, not for the first time, if Magnussen’s got into your head even more. If perhaps he’s been saying things and putting you off from feeling close to him. For though you've been friendly and polite to him over the past couple of weeks Mycroft knows you haven’t been letting him into your thoughts as much as you’d previously been trying to or saying anything of real substance whenever you talk. Such facts irk and plague him, and although he knows that in actual fact it’s probably best that there’s a little distance between you right now, lest you start questioning him more about what he’s been doing on the phone all the time, he does feel even more of an urge to keep a close eye on you because of it. Such a thought again brings him to a subject that has been troubling him of late, that being the matter of the Christmas holidays, because although he wants to go home for the holidays he knows that he wants you beside him just as much. He sighs. There’s only a week and a half left until them now. He’s already put the matter off for more than he should. Knowing that he simply can’t afford to put it off any more, he pulls his phone out of his pocket again and calls home. 

 

“Hello?” Mummy answers. 

 

“Mummy,” Mycroft begins a little tentatively. 

 

“Oh Mikey how are you? It’s so nice to hear from you. Do you know what? That brother of yours phoned earlier. He gave me an entire list of all the food and drink that he wants in the house over the holidays, I do hope you’re making sure he eats enough.” 

 

“Of course Mummy,” Mycroft says, feeling a little annoyed because Sherlock being demanding is the last thing that he needs right now. “In actual fact I was wondering if I could make my own request for the holidays?” 

 

“Oh what are you boys like?” Mummy huffs out with a sort of fond exasperation to her tone, “Though if it’s about dessert I’ve already got a couple of suggestions down on my list,” she informs him. 

 

Mycroft swallows. “No, it’s not about dessert Mummy,” he says, before he goes on rather falteringly, “Actually I was wondering if we could possibly have F/N stay with us again.” There comes a prominent pause. Mycroft swallows. “I know things didn't quite work out last time,” he says, an understatement if there ever was one. “But I’d really feel a lot happier if she was with us. She’ll probably be on her own in the house otherwise, and as much as you have your doubts about her I'm sure that you wouldn't want her to spend Christmas on her own.”

 

“I have more than doubts about her Mikey,” Mummy begins tersely. 

 

_“Mummy”-_

 

“I just don’t think it wise for her to be staying with us again,” she gets out in a hard voice. 

 

Mycroft swallows. “Mummy please,” he begs, “Please just agree to have her for the holidays. I really think it’s a matter of you both getting to know each other more. I'm sure that when you do you’ll realise that you just got off on the wrong foot with each other and then”-

 

“Mykie, the way that girl spoke to me before and everything I know about her this far has been more than enough to convince me that”-

 

“Mummy please, if not because you want to then please just try with her again for me”-

 

“You still love her?”-

 

“Yes”-

 

“Despite how much she’s already hurt you? Despite how atrociously she behaved in the summer? Leaving you like that”-

 

“Mummy, I know for you that incident still feels recent because you haven’t seen her since then, but for F/N and I that’s far behind us and we’re both trying to be a lot more mindful of the other’s feelings. We've grown wiser because of it, and I really think that if you were to try again with her now then you’d be able to see even more the type of person that she is.”

 

“Fine,” Mummy says letting out a sigh, “She can stay, but if there’s any more nonsense then”-

 

“I know, thank you Mummy,” Mycroft interrupts her. 

 

“Don’t thank me,” she tells him, “You’re the one who’s going to have to tell your brother about it, and I won’t be happy if I have to spend the entire Christmas holidays listening to him complaining about John not being there.”

 

“Understood,” Mycroft says uneasily, before he swallows and ends the call just a moment later. 

 

Sherlock’s not the only one he has to deal with however, and whilst Sherlock’s reaction just a few moments later is predictable, him rolling his eyes and moaning, yours is a lot more volatile. 

 

As soon as he tells you, you cry, “Are you mad?” before you throw the book that you’d been studying onto your bed and sit down on the edge of the duvet, one leg underneath you and the other swinging off towards the floor. 

 

Mycroft takes a couple of hurried steps forwards. “Look, I know that things were difficult before”-

 

 _“Difficult?”_ you exclaim, turning your head towards him now so that you can give him an exasperated look. “Mycroft your mother _hates_ me and she’s never shown any sign of changing that view.” 

 

“Look, I really think that it’s just a matter of you”-

 

“Every time she talks to me she wastes no time in reminding me that I'm not good enough for you, that I’ll _never_ be good enough,” you huff out. 

 

Mycroft swallows. Then he swoops down to sit in front of you on the bed, before he takes both of your hands in his. You look at him. “I'm sorry about that,” he tells you. “No, really I _am_ ,” he adds when you look at him a little disbelievingly. “But things are never going to change between you unless you spend more time together and talk, and in spite of what Mummy thinks about you and what she’s said to you in the past she’s agreed to let you stay with us. That’s got to be worth something hasn't it?” 

 

“Yeah and how long did it take for you to persuade her to do that?” you quip, clearly unconvinced. 

 

“That’s not the point,” Mycroft huffs out, and he raises his hand now so that he can press the back of it against your cheek, before he continues, “The point is that if you agree to this then you’ll be giving yourself another chance with her and a chance to make yourself feel better about all of this.”

 

You stare at him. Your resolve wavering. “Fine,” you huff out finally, “I’ll go, but I swear to God Mycroft if she starts getting at me again”-

 

“You’ll be fine, thank you,” he tells you, lowering his hand and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

 

You smile a little, but it soon slips when you hear Mycroft’s phone going off in the next second. 

 

“Excuse me,” he says, jumping up and hurrying off, taking his phone out of his pocket as he goes. 

 

You stare after him, that hollow feeling that you've started to feel whenever Mycroft’s phone rings or starts to vibrate coming back to you as you do so. You know that you should ask him about it. Know that you’re probably just making the issue worse by not doing so and by being a little more guarded around him, but at the same time you find that you can’t. Ignorance right now it turns out, as painful as it is and as anxious as it makes you, is still a lot safer then finding out something that confirms your worst fears. 

 

*

 

You start to feel even more strained and sensitive about everything over the next week. From trying to keep what had happened at Halloween in the back of your mind because it will overwhelm you if you think about the possibility of seeing Moriarty again, to Magnussen barely mentioning the issue of Mycroft and you but every now and again bringing it up inadvertently through saying how he’s seen Jane the receptionist on her phone a lot lately and how he hopes that you’re not always glued to yours. Inevitably you feel even more doubtful about the validity of Mycroft promising that he’ll wait for you whenever you hear that. But still you want to try and believe in him and still you find that you can’t say anything. For you can’t bear to face the idea that he might not wait, and that already he’s allowing things to crumble between you. Even when you begin to consider the very possibility your chest grows tight and anxious and you feel tears pressing at your eyes. You know that it would probably be better if you had someone who could offer their advice. You can’t talk to Magnussen about your fears though because you know that he’ll just say, ‘I told you so,’ and you've been trying really hard not to say anything to Molly about it all because you just want her to focus on getting back with Greg. Your nightmares have been getting steadily worse as a result from not being able to tell anyone about everything that’s going on inside you, and though you know that Mycroft’s noticed for nine out of ten times he’s there and ready to hold onto you when you wake, he hasn't mentioned anything about going to see someone other than Magnussen again. Something, which you’re grateful for. 

 

*

The night of the Christmas party finally arrives. You’d ended up putting most of the Christmas decorations up on your own in the end. For though Mycroft had started to help you his phone had gone off and he’d gone outside to take the call, something that had again made you feel uncomfortable. 

 

Still you’re determined to try and push everything to the back of your mind and have a good time with everyone tonight. 

 

Molly’s already gone down, and you smooth down the dress you've put on for the occasion-a f/c cocktail and one that you hope will make Mycroft be unable to look anywhere else for the rest of the night-before you head downstairs too. 

 

There’s some gold tinsel on the banister this year, along with the occasional bit of holly, and as you walk into the living room, which has a Christmas tree that’s absolutely covered in a multitude of different coloured baubles in one corner, a crackling fire in the fireplace and star decorations dangling from the ceiling you begin to feel calmer about everything. 

 

Mycroft comes towards you at once, taking your hand delicately and kissing it, before he informs you with a knowing look on his face, “You look beautiful F/N.”

 

“Thank you,” you blush, thinking that this party’s already going a lot better than the one last year had as you take him in now. He’s wearing a grey three-piece suit with a tie and pocket-handkerchief that match your dress. 

 

“Molly hinted that I might benefit from wearing something f/c,” he tells you with a smile. 

 

You smile, your eyes going to find Molly now. She’s standing by the tree and she exchanges a small smile with you. 

 

“I think Molly’s looking beautiful too. Wouldn't you say so Greg?” you attempt, loud enough so that your voice carries across to where Greg and Sherlock are sitting opposite each other talking. 

 

Greg’s head jerks up now and he looks in between Molly and you, his mouth opening and closing slightly as he does so. His eyes go back to Molly, and you can tell as they do so that he’s finding her beautiful in her long black dress with her hair twisted as it lays across to the side of her neck. But before he can make up his mind about whether to actually acknowledge that fact or not there’s a knock on the door. 

 

“It’ll probably be John,” Sherlock comments, though he makes no effort to get up off the armchair and answer it himself. 

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes, before he turns and leaves your side to let John in. 

 

Molly comes over to you, squeezing at your arm gratefully to thank you for your earlier comment and effort with Greg and you smile at her. But you look distractedly around just a moment later when you hear the sound of laughter that’s most definitely not John’s coming from the door. 

 

Mycroft re-enters a moment later, not accompanied by John but Jane who’s wearing a short black dress that shows off her legs and a matching pair of black high heels. Your mouth opens slightly when you notice how she’s giggling a little drunkenly, whilst she clings onto Mycroft’s arm, her head brushing down close to his shoulder. Mycroft meanwhile is wearing a most awkward expression on his face, and he does seem to be-to his credit-attempting to dislodge her from him. Still, as you look at them and take them in, you feel not only tense but also waves of both shock and something that’s a mix of humiliation and anger beginning to roll off you. 

 

Your hackles go up even more when Jane casts a bit of a distracted look around the room, before she says, “Oh hey everyone, Mycroft invited me”-

 

“Why would he do that?” you ask, stepping forwards slightly, “You barely know each other.”

 

 _“F/N,”_ Molly says a little warningly under her breath, whilst both Greg and Sherlock, sensing danger from your tone, get to their feet. 

 

You've only got eyes for Jane however, and even when Mycroft begins to say, “She was just”- with a worried look upon his face, you raise a hand to silence him, your eyes fixed on the other woman, sizing her up. 

 

Jane looks at you for a moment, getting a flicker of recognition about her face as she does so. “Hey F/N,” she says, before she adds, “Sorry, this must be a little awkward for you.” She shakes her head about a bit now, making her hair bounce.

 

“I don’t care about that right now,” you snap, thinking that she’s referring to the fact that you only know each other from the clinic, “I just want to know what you’re doing here.” You fold your arms. 

 

“Didn't you tell them sweet pea?” Jane asks, peering up at Mycroft. Mycroft looks down at her, his brow furrowed. “He was supposed to tell you all before tonight so that things wouldn't be as, well, y’know, awkward,” Jane says, looking around at Greg, Molly and Sherlock now, before her gaze settles back on you. 

 

“Tell us what?” you ask, your arms still folded and your eyes narrowed. 

 

“Why about us being boyfriend and girlfriend of course,” Jane exclaims, toying with Mycroft’s arm now. 

 

You feel like someone’s sticking pins all over the most vulnerable and bruised parts of your body. Your lip begins to tremble and you bite down hard upon it to try and stop it from doing so. 

 

Mycroft opens his mouth. 

 

But before he can say anything you huff out a breath. Then you stalk past them, knocking against Jane on your way out. 

 

The cold air hits you and you take a deep gulp of it in, before you hurry up the steps and onto the street. It’s snowing lightly and there’s a breeze drifting around. 

 

You hear someone clattering after you. “F/N!” Mycroft calls. 

 

You swallow and fold your arms protectively over your chest, but you keep on walking. 

 

“F/N! Please, please just listen to me,” Mycroft calls desperately, jogging after you and moving to reach for your elbow. 

 

You stop, bowing your head. His fingers only brush against you briefly, before he lets go of you. You take a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “How long has this been going on? Since Halloween? Is that why you didn't want to take our relationship any further? Because you’d already decided that you didn't want to wait for me? Because you were already seeing her and you just didn't know how to tell me any of it?” you ask, finally getting everything that you've been too afraid up until this point to say as you turn around to him, and there are already tears streaming down your face. 

 

“No, no of course not. You have to believe me. There’s nothing going on between Anthea and I”-

 

 _“Anthea?”_ you pick up, your eyes narrowing, “Who’s Anthea?” 

 

Mycroft flinches. “Jane’s Anthea, that’s, that’s what she wanted me to call her”- you huff out a breath now, raising a hand to your forehead, before you move around in a circle so that you come to be standing a little away from him. 

 

Mycroft stumbles forwards. “I swear there’s nothing”-

 

“I saw her,” you blurt out, “I saw her with you at the clinic the day you came to pick me up. The way that she was acting around you. The way that you were so clearly flattered by her”- Mycroft blanches. 

 

 _“How?”_ he asks. 

 

“Magnussen has a peep-hole, in his office”-

 

“Whatever you saw and whatever he’s been telling you I swear”-

 

“So I'm the stupid one am I?” you ask, “Let me guess I didn't see what I thought I did, just like I didn't see Moriarty at Halloween”-

 

“No, I”-

 

“All the time you've been spending on your phone, is that because of her?” you ask overriding him now. 

 

“I”-

 

“Is that because of her?” you repeat, your voice firm now as you try to be strong and not succumb to all the trembling that’s going on inside of you. Trembling because all this time you’d actually thought that he’d wait for you. Actually thought that he was that sort of person. The sort of person who you could quite easily spend years, if not the rest of your life, loving. 

 

Mycroft bows his head, his eyes skimming crazily across the pavement as he tries to figure out what to say. Finally he nods. 

 

A gurgle leaves your lips. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft says, looking back up at you. 

 

 _“No,”_ you say, raising a hand when he takes a step towards you, “I don’t want you anywhere near me. All this time-all this time I’ve been defending you, telling Magnussen that he was wrong. When now it just looks like”-

 

“I may have been texting her but I swear it wasn't because of what you think”-

 

You let out a laugh. “What was it then? For some noble reason?” 

 

Mycroft stares at you. “Yes,” he splutters out. Then when you just look at him disdainfully he says, “It was for you”-

 

_“Me?”-_

 

“Yes!” Mycroft insists, “Do you honestly think that I would change my mind about us so easily?” he asks, “That I would just abandon you? Have I not been the one standing by you all this time? Even when you've hurt me? Yelled at me? Said all manner of cruel things? Haven’t I always been there for you? I am not Moriarty and I am not whatever Magnussen has been referring to me as. I thought that you would have known that by now…”

 

You’re breathing hard by the time he finishes and you take a moment just to calm down a little and to try and straighten out everything in your mind. “Why did you text her then?” 

 

“Because I thought she might be able to help.”

 

 _“Help?”_

 

“Yes,” Mycroft says, shifting his position, “She said that Magnussen manipulated her, in the past, and I was worried that he might be doing the same to you. I’ve been trying to find out as much as I could, only now it looks like she’s just been working underneath his influence all this time and he’s just been using her to further try and separate us and you have no idea how”-

 

You stumble backwards, raising a hand to your forehead and closing your eyes as you scrunch your face up, whilst you try and deal with all the conflicting things that are going on inside your head. “I don’t understand,” you say. For you've gone from believing that Magnussen was wrong about Mycroft to that he was right to that he was wrong again all in a few moments. Not to mention you now have to deal with this update on the Jane/Anthea/Whatever she’s currently calling herself situation and deal with the fact that Magnussen might _really_ be the one responsible for making you feel such a mess in the first place. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft says and you open your eyes. 

 

Mycroft looks like an angel, standing there with a halo of light around him because of the street lamp that he’s stood under, his blue eyes worried and desperate, his body almost wrapped up in the flakes of snow that swirl around you both. It’s odd, but as soon as you see him it’s as if everything starts to slowly make sense again. As if all the gears click into place. For as you look at him it’s like every time that he’s ever been there for you comes flooding back to you, and as you come to realize that the words he’d spoken earlier can be nothing but the truth your mind instantly knows that nothing had ever gone on between him and Anthea. But such truths send a crushing sense of confusion and fear inside you too. For how could you have ever got so lost to start doubting something so important? To start doubting him? So lost that you could actually question his feelings when he has never been anything but true to you and to think that he could actually be capable of hurting you in such a terrible way? “What’s going on with me?” you ask, sinking down to the edge of the pavement so that you can sit upon it. You raise your hands so that they can clutch at your bowed head, which is close to your knees. 

 

Mycroft swallows, his heart going out to you, before he swoops down to join you on the street. 

 

“I'm sorry,” you say as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close, “I don’t-I just don’t get what’s going on with me. I'm confused. I'm so confused.”

 

“He’s opened your mind up for this,” Mycroft begins angrily, “All this time that’s what he’s been doing, opening up your mind and making you go over your darkest memories again and again just so that when he started to add all these doubts and possibilities they’d weigh on you even more and you’d find them all the more difficult to push aside”-

 

You begin to sob. 

 

“It’s all right, I'm here, I'm here,” Mycroft says in a gentler, softer tone, rubbing at your arms and back soothingly as you push your head just beneath his shoulder. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

 

You cling onto each other for the longest of moments, the snow falling and melting upon your clothes, hair and Mycroft’s eyelashes. 

 

Then, when you finally pull back from him, Mycroft says, “Come, I'm going to take you home, put you to bed and make you a nice hot water bottle okay?”

 

You sniff and nod, feeling like you've been so stupid but oddly secure at the same time. How can you feel anything else when Mycroft’s looking at you as if he’ll always be there to catch you when you fall?

 

He smiles at you a little encouragingly. Then slowly he assists you to your feet and you begin to make the short walk home.

 

“I'm sorry,” you say, feeling the need to say such a thing again. 

 

His arm shifts slightly from where its been supporting you around your waist. “There’s no need for that,” he soothes, though you’re sure that you can detect an anger towards Magnussen there too. “Just focus on getting home,” he says when you look at him, and feeling a little reassured you nod, before you give him an uncertain smile. 

 

He squeezes you a little, and then you both ease your way carefully down the steps, Mycroft making sure you don’t fall. 

 

“There,” he says once you reach the bottom. 

 

You exchange another small uncertain smile with each other, but then in the next moment you hear the sound of the door opening so you both turn your heads to look. 

 

Greg’s standing there with Molly just behind him. 

 

“Mate,” Greg says when he sees you both. 

 

Mycroft nods, before he begins to assist you to the door. 

 

“Is everything”- Greg begins. 

 

“Where’s Jane?” Mycroft asks, cutting off the other man, and even in the state you’re in the fact that he doesn’t call her Anthea doesn’t escape you. In fact both that and the rumbling tone of anger in his voice make you peer up at him. He simply shifts his hand on your back though to encourage you to go forwards. 

 

“Sherlock was seeing her out,” Greg replies, hurriedly moving back now so that there’s room for both Mycroft and you to step inside. 

 

Mycroft nods. Then, without another word, he guides you upstairs and to your room. 

 

As he lets go of you and you sink down onto your bed he passes your pyjamas to you, placing them on your lap, before he kisses you softly on the cheek. “Get changed into them, I’ll go and fetch you a hot water bottle,” he says, his hands on your shoulders. 

 

“Thank you,” you sniff, and he knows that you’re thanking him for more than just what he’s about to do, so he steps in between your legs, kisses you delicately upon the top of your head and rubs at your upper back for a moment, before he pulls away. 

 

You’re lying down in bed when he returns and he slides the hot water bottle into bed beside you, before he peers down at you. 

 

“I love you,” you tell him. 

 

“I love you too,” he tells you, before he kisses you on the forehead. 

 

You smile and turn onto your side, holding the hot water bottle close to you as you wriggle down. 

 

Mycroft stands by your bed and watches you carefully until you fall asleep. 

 

You've just drifted off and he’s just turned around when he sees Sherlock watching him carefully by the door. 

 

“Everything all right?” Sherlock murmurs, shifting his head so that he can peer towards you as he steps forwards. 

 

Mycroft looks back at you, not wanting to disturb you. “No,” he breathes softly as he looks back at his brother. 

 

“I thought as much,” Sherlock confesses, keeping his voice quiet, “Something’s going on with Magnussen isn't it?”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft says, drawing himself up now, and if you were to have seen him then, then you’d have found him nearly indistinguishable from the version of the Mycroft in your dream who had once stormed into the consulting room and gazed stormily at Moriarty. “He’s crossed me for the last time. I'm going to need to come up with a plan to deal with him after Christmas, and _you’re_ going to help me.”

 

Sherlock nods, stepping forwards now and both brothers move in unison to observe your sleeping face once more. 

 

“Nothing’s going to harm you. Not any more F/N. I'm going to make sure of that,” Mycroft says, his voice firm, and when Sherlock turns his head and sees how resolute his brother looks his own determination to protect you solidifies inside him. 

 

“Me too,” he says, and Mycroft looks at him now, his eyes flickering before there comes to be some satisfaction about his face. 

 

They nod at each other. Then together they leave the room. 

 

*

 

Anthea walks quickly down the street, remembering the conversation she’d had with the youngest Holmes brother as she goes. 

 

As soon as Mycroft had left after you no one had said anything for a moment. The other woman who she’s been told is Molly Hooper had just looked stunned and confused, like she hadn't known what to do. Anthea had pitied her. 

 

The shorter man, Greg Lestrade, had stepped forwards and said rather tersely, “I think you better go.”

 

But it had been the youngest Holmes brother who had strode up to her, said, “Come,” taken her firmly by the arm and led her outside. 

 

He’d half-dragged her up the steps, before they’d both come to a stop at the top of them. 

 

They’d been able to see Mycroft and you talking to each other towards the left. Predictably Sherlock had led her to the right. 

 

He’d taken her down two streets and off into a little side-alley, before he’d shaken her off him. “You’re not having a relationship with my brother,” he’d announced with some disgust in his voice, whilst she’d shifted her position and adjusted the black dress that she was wearing.

 

She’d looked at him. He’d been looking at her calculatingly, as if he was trying to read everything about her just by looking at her, and from what she’d been told she’d had no doubt that, that was in fact what he was doing. “Aren't I?” she’d asked. 

 

“No,” Sherlock had replied curtly with a bit of a shake of his head. His glittering blue eyes had met her darker ones. “So I guess I'm just wondering how someone like you would benefit from trying to keep my brother and F/N apart.” She’d stared at him, saying nothing. “You work for Magnussen so I'm presuming that this is down to him, that you’re simply following his instructions. But that still doesn’t answer what’s in it for you and why he wants F/N isolated from the one person who’s always tried to be there for her. Presumably he wants to manipulate her and mess with her head, but why?” 

 

They’d just stared at each other for another moment. “Perhaps you should get together with your brother and compare notes,” Anthea had shrugged. 

 

Sherlock’s jaw had shifted. “Is that you talking or him?” 

 

Again Anthea had shrugged. 

 

“He wants us to act?” Sherlock had guessed, before he’d asked, “But why would he want to risk possible exposure?” 

 

There had been a pause after his words, but finally Anthea had said, “I’ll leave that for you and your brother to try and figure out Mr. Holmes.” Then she’d gone around him and taken out her phone as she’d done so, before she’d begun to walk off down the street.

 

As the memory fades she continues to look down at her phone, completely oblivious to the soft fall of snowflakes, which settles down upon her black dress as if they’re trying to convert its colour into pure white. 

 

 _All the players are in place Sir,_ she finally sends. 

 

 _Good. Time for their move,_ comes the reply. 

 

Anthea smiles, her red lipstick standing out like blood as she cuts through the snow.

 

Finally there will be some action.


	4. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are discovered during the Christmas holidays, and a plan is formed. But will it be a strong enough one to go up against Magnussen who is hiding more secrets than it appears?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks to you all as ever for your support, not just on this story but all of them. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

A crow circles in the air above the small station, doing its rounds in the pale blue sky as it observes the people bustling about.

 

There’s a lot of activity, as one would expect at this time of year. People are carrying loads of shopping bags and luggage, hugs are being exchanged and of course work is being scheduled on the railway line…

 

Your heart lifts a little when you see Mr. Holmes- _Edwin_ -standing on the platform as you finally get off the train, it can’t help it. 

 

You follow Mycroft over to him. Sherlock slouches a bit as he follows behind you. 

 

“It’s good to see you again F/N,” Edwin says once he’s hugged both his boys, and as you take in his warm cream coloured jumper and his slightly crooked red and white bow-tie you can’t help but think that it’s good to see him again too. 

 

*

 

However as the battered car pulls to a stop outside the now familiar cottage you’d stayed in over the summer your throat feels dry with anticipation and your hands go all fidgety. 

 

Mycroft reaches across and gives them a quick squeeze, knowing that you’re growing tense at the thought of seeing his mother again. You swallow and try to look at him gratefully, but you end up giving him more of a grimace instead. 

 

Edwin clears his throat; “I’ll be popping back into town in a minute. Does anybody want anything?” 

 

Sherlock shakes his head, his hair bouncing as he does so, before he makes to leave the car. 

 

“No thank you,” you say politely. 

 

Mycroft gives you a considering look, before he looks back at his father and says, “I’ll come with you.”

 

“I”- you begin, feeling alarmed at the thought of being separated from Mycroft so soon, and like as if he’s going then you’ll definitely be going with him, but you break off when Mycroft briefly cups your hand with his own.

 

“Why don’t you just unpack what you need and then rest up a little?” he suggests. 

 

You hesitate. You can tell that he’s up to something. But when he shoots you a bit of a pleading look you nod, deciding to trust him. 

 

You slide out of the car. Mrs. Holmes is already standing by the cottage door. She gives you a bit of a disapproving look. Sherlock’s nowhere in sight. He must have already disappeared into the cottage when you’d been talking to Mycroft. You feel a hand on your shoulder. You jump a little, before you turn slightly to see that Mycroft’s followed out after you. He gives you a bit of a reassuring smile, before he lowers his hand and entwines it with yours. You feel a little stronger just from him touching you, from feeling his fingers tighten around yours. He gives you a little gentle tug and guides you towards his mother. 

 

“Mummy, how nice to see you,” he begins formally, before he kisses her on the cheek. Then he draws back and adds, “Father and I are just popping into town. Will you be so kind and look after F/N for me?” 

 

“Doesn't F/N want to go to town too?” Mrs. Holmes asks him a little sharply, not even looking at you but fixing her beady eyes on her son. 

 

You swallow, feeling all the more reluctant to stay there. As if he senses what you’re thinking Mycroft squeezes your hand a little more tightly. 

 

“Seeing as she’s only just got here and she’s our guest after all, I thought it would be more sensible if she stayed home and unpacked,” he says. 

 

You get the sense that he’s hiding something from you again and look at him, this time curiously. 

 

He ignores your gaze and just gives your hand another squeeze. _Trust me_ , he says without actually saying anything. _Okay._

 

“I suppose that I will have to show you to your room,” Mrs. Holmes says with a bit of a disapproving frown as she looks at you, as if _you’re_ the one being all weird and difficult now. Then, when your throat’s too dry to currently say anything, she turns back to her son and says, “Though why you have to go out again so soon after you've only just got here Mykie dear I’ll never know,” as she straightens the collar of his coat. Mycroft lets go of your hand so that he can try and fend her off. 

 

“I won’t be long Mummy,” Mycroft says, prising her hands off him now, whilst yours fidget together uncomfortably. He turns and kisses you briefly on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, gripping at your shoulders. 

 

“Okay,” you tell him, trying to smile and be fine about it all even though on the inside you couldn't feel any more apprehensive and something’s swirling about in your stomach something terribly. 

 

He smiles at you. Then he turns around, hurries off down the path and back into his father’s car, sitting in the passenger seat this time. 

 

You swallow and watch them for as long as you can, until the car’s around the corner, before you turn back to Mrs. Holmes. 

 

“Come,” she says, a stern expression on her face, before she turns around and leads you inside. 

 

You adjust the straps of the rucksack that’s on your back and follow her. 

 

She leads you into the same bedroom that you’d occupied during your last stay, acting as if she’s done you a huge favour, and you try and nod and smile appreciatively as you enter it, acting as if you’re seeing everything for the first time despite the fact that absolutely nothing has changed about the room since you last stayed there. She makes a bit of a harrumphing noise in her throat. You shift forwards, pull your rucksack off and stow it close to the side of the bed, hoping that by the time you turn around she’ll have left you to your own devices. Of course she hasn't. 

 

“I could help you with dinner?” you suggest, knowing that this is probably what she’s waiting to see if you’ll ask. 

 

She looks at you calculatingly for a moment and your stomach swirls all the more. “Yes, I suppose you could,” she relents, finally turning around. 

 

You swallow and look back longingly at your rucksack for a moment, before you turn back around and decide that you better follow her. 

 

*

 

Mycroft’s been swallowing and rubbing his hands across the material of his trousers for the past ten minutes, wondering when the perfect moment to bring up what he wants to might be. 

 

“Something the matter?” Edwin asks, his voice a little terse. He half-glances across at his son now from where they are in the car. 

 

Mycroft swallows again, before he decides to go for it and ask, “Regarding Dr. Magnussen, you said that you got his card from work, but”-

 

 _“Ah,”_ Edwin breathes. Mycroft looks at him. “I thought you might bring that up.”

 

“ _Did_ you get it from work?” Mycroft asks, his hands stilling now, though he still feels apprehensive. 

 

Edwin swallows. “I’ve had that card for a very long time, or a version of it anyway,” he says. 

 

“How long?” Mycroft asks. Something inside him feels scared to hear the answer. 

 

Edwin considers for a moment. “Probably twenty-five years at least,” he finally settles on. Mycroft nods, thinking that he’s beginning to understand, and seeing such a thing when he quickly glances his way Edwin continues, this time a little warningly, “I'm not going to hide what you want to know from you, at least not intentionally, but you have to understand Mycroft that this isn't my story to tell.” Mycroft looks at him. “It’s your mother’s, and though I will encourage her to tell you I can’t make her. Just like you can’t always get F/N to tell you what you want. You understand?” Mycroft swallows and nods, before he looks away. 

 

*

 

You’re chopping an onion. Mrs. Holmes had seemed almost gleeful to give you the job. Your eyes are already watering. You blink. 

 

Mycroft’s mother stands close by, her gaze on the spaghetti that’s bubbling away in the saucepan. That is until she looks sideways at you and asks crisply, “So, what’s the current relationship between you and my son?” You hesitate. The knife you’re holding slips a little awkwardly against the side of the onion. “Be honest. I shall know if you’re lying.” You swallow. 

 

“We love each other,” you say, “That hasn't changed”-

 

“Oh hasn't it? You didn't act very lovingly towards my son last summer.”

 

You cringe a little. “I was trying to protect him, trying to do what was best,” you explain. “But for now anyway we’re just being friends.”

 

“That doesn’t sound very fair on him either.”

 

“I”- you begin, feeling a little confused by her. For you’d thought that she might be happy by you just being friends. Clearly not.

 

“Making him wait,” she elaborates. 

 

“We’re just trying to be sensible,” you say, re-iterating what you've heard Mycroft say in the past as you look at her again. 

 

She doesn’t seem to hear you. Instead she goes back to looking at the spaghetti as she muses, “Mycroft deserves better.”

 

You bite at your lip, looking down at the onion. As you do you don’t know whether it’s the onion’s effects making your eyes water or the fact that, that uncomfortable prickling is back inside you, along with all the doubts you've ever had about your relationship with Mycroft and all the times you've ever wondered about not being good enough. 

 

A sudden flare of anger runs through you at her making you feel this way and you ask, “Why don’t you like me Mrs. Holmes? John’s dating Sherlock and I’ve never heard you've said a bad word against him.” 

 

“That’s because I know him,” she snaps, still not looking at you. 

 

“Well, you could get to know me too, if you wanted,” you tell her uncertainly, glancing sideways a little hopefully. She turns towards you. You put down the knife on the chopping board and face her. You take a bit of a breath. “I love Mycroft. I felt awful about what I did over the summer, but at the time I genuinely thought it was the best thing for him. I'm sorry that I'm maybe not as open or as outgoing as you’d like. I'm trying to work on it but it’s taking time. I'm sorry that I’ve made you worry unnecessarily about your son. But the truth is, as far as my intentions are concerned, all I want to do is love and care for him, be there for him, support him. He’s a wonderful man Mrs. Holmes. Both you and your husband have raised him wonderfully. He’s kind, respectful, caring. He’s like an old soul in a young body and he’s been there for me so much…I have no doubt that he’s all those things and that he’s behaved that way because of the amount of care and nurture you've put into him. At the end of the day I have no doubt that you only want what’s best for Mycroft, but the truth is that, that’s exactly what I want too. So instead of being wary and mistrustful of each other can’t we just accept that we’re on the same side and get on with each other?” You have no idea where all the words come from. All you know is that as soon as you’d started saying them they’d just naturally flowed out of you, as if they'd been swirling and forming inside your sub-conscious all this time, and it feels both a blessed relief and a triumph to finally get them out. 

 

Mrs. Holmes looks at you. For a moment you just stare at each other. You with determined eyes and a slightly open mouth, which your soft breaths fall out of. She looks at you calculatingly, her eyes serious and her lips in a thin, straight line. Then she opens her mouth. 

 

But she doesn’t get to say anything because in the next moment Mycroft and Edwin- back from their trip-burst into the room. 

 

Mrs. Holmes and you turn away from each other. 

 

Mycroft puts the shopping down and comes over to you, kissing you on the cheek. “Everything all right?” he asks in a low murmur, his hands on your waist. 

 

You nod, although you feel a little uncertain about the fact, before your hands instinctively move to straighten the collar of his shirt. When you realize how similar what you’re doing is to what Mrs. Holmes had done earlier though you soon stop, turning away from him. 

 

Mrs. Holmes is staring at you, the both of you actually and you flush a little bit when you see her, feeling self-conscious. You look down. 

 

Mycroft makes to lift up your chin with his hand, but before he can do so Mrs. Holmes says, “If you’re not going to make yourself useful Mykie then you can go elsewhere, the same can be said of you too Edwin.”

 

You tense up a little, still feeling uncertain as to what she thinks of your earlier words. 

 

Mycroft and Edwin exchange a glance with each other. Mycroft looks at you. You can tell that he’s wondering whether or not it’s really all right for him to go.

 

“It’s okay,” you murmur so only he can hear, looking up at him. As you feel suddenly more confident your chin juts out slightly. 

 

You’re sure? He asks with his eyes, his hand trailing through your hair. 

 

Yes you nod. 

 

He smiles and gives your shoulders a quick squeeze, before he follows after his father who’s making to leave the room. 

 

You swallow, feeling a little more uncertain now that he’s gone, but you feel encouraged, when, as you stop beside Mrs. Holmes she quickly cups your hand with hers, giving it a swift squeeze. “Let’s cook dear,” she says. For the first time in her presence you feel hopeful. 

 

*

 

As Mrs. Holmes goes around the table, delivering everyone’s dinner to them Edwin grasps at her wrist just as she’s drawing back from him and says, “Maybe we could hold that discussion tonight Violet? There have been questions asked and I think they deserve answers.”

 

You look up from the plate that’s already been given to you feeling confused by Mr. Holmes’s cryptic words. Sherlock looks similarly so, raising his eyebrows. But Mrs. Holmes seems to understand what her husband’s going on about because her face darkens and her lips visibly tighten. Whilst when you look at Mycroft he too seems to have some greater understanding than you do, for he gives his parents a bit of a satisfied look, before he looks down at his dinner. 

 

Mrs. Holmes is the last to sit down. You look at her. She takes a bit of a breath, before she looks up at you. You swallow, before you look away. 

 

Dinner continues in silence for a few moments. Edwin clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. 

 

“Sherlock, Mycroft… _F/N_ ,” he nods at you all, and you smile a little questioningly back at him around chewing your current mouthful. “There’s something that Violet and I think you deserve to know. Mycroft asked me about it earlier”- you look at Mycroft now but his eyes are fixed on his father, as are Sherlock's, and you notice that the youngest Holmes brother looks every inch the dog whose just caught hold of an interesting scent-“It concerns the events, which led up to me getting hold of Dr. Magnussen’s card”-

 

“Must we do this right now?” Mrs. Holmes interjects. 

 

You look at her. She’s got her head bowed and her eyes uncertainly fixed upon her dinner. You can’t see them but you sense that her hands are fidgeting underneath the table. Suddenly it’s like you both further understand why she’s been acting the way she has towards you and see something of yourself inside her. “I was raped,” you utter. Everyone looks at you. “Sorry,” you add hurriedly, fidgeting, “I-I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that, but I wanted you to know-to _see_ -that I understand what it’s really like to not want to speak about something.” 

 

“F/N, you don’t have to”- Mycroft begins, putting his hand over yours. 

 

“No, it’s-it’s all right Myc. They deserve to know,” you say, half-looking at him. “It was a man at university,” you go on as you look back to his parents, “I used to go to school with him…h-he used to be my friend, but he changed. Anyway he-he came into my room last February and”-

 

“The point is,” Mycroft says, taking up the strand of the story and rubbing at your hand, “Is he abused F/N from that point on until the end of last year.”

 

A brief silence follows. 

 

“That’s what your nightmares were really caused by?” Mrs. Holmes asks, looking at you intently with her face overcast as she updates her knowledge of you. You nod. She swallows and looks at her son. “How long have you known about all this?” 

 

Mycroft and you exchange a look, before he looks back at his mother. “I had my suspicions for a while,” he begins, his hand tightening upon yours, “But I’ve known properly since the end of last year.” Mrs. Holmes nods. 

 

“Did you report the matter F/N?” Edwin asks, looking at you concernedly. 

 

You swallow, before you shake your head. Then feeling like you should give more of a proper answer, you say, “He would never have been prosecuted for it. He’s not that type of person Mr. Holmes.” 

 

Edwin looks at you sympathetically for a moment. “Yes, but if he does that to someone else”-

 

“He won’t,” you say assuredly, shaking your head a little. “He hates me Mr. Holmes,” you add when Edwin looks at you doubtfully. 

 

“I don’t know why you both just didn't tell us. We could have helped,” Mrs. Holmes exclaims in a high-pitched tone full of anxiety, looking frustrated. You feel a bit of hope grow and shift in your heart like a sunflower that’s just had water. She seems to remember then about how she’d felt reluctant to talk about her own issue, and her face becomes even more overcast, before she says, “I wasn't always the relatively strong person that you see in front of you now.”

 

“Mummy,” Mycroft says softly. When you look back at him you see that he looks bad for being the one who’d opened this can of worms in the first place. You twist your hand and place it over his. You’ll be the one to comfort him now. He looks at you gratefully for a moment, but his eyes still look sad when they go back to his mother. 

 

“No Mycroft. If F/N can be honest about something that’s quite frankly far more terrible than anything I’ve ever been through then so can I,” Mrs. Holmes replies, giving you a hard kind of smile, which you return, whilst butterflies swoop through your stomach. “I was at university. It wasn't long after I’d met your father in fact”- Sherlock pulls a bit of a face and even Mycroft wrinkles his nose-“I was ambitious and clever, but I lacked confidence,” she sighs, “I had no self-belief and it took me a long time to get any.”

 

 _“Why?”_ Mycroft asks, looking both confused and sad for his mother. Your heart fills up with compassion for him when you look at him.

 

Mrs. Holmes gives a rueful sort of smile. “Because I was clever,” she says, and recognition dawns on both of Mycroft and Sherlock’s faces. You wonder suddenly about their childhood. Mrs. Holmes holds out both of her hands and her sons take one each, Mycroft still letting your hand hold onto his other. “Clever people, as you no doubt both know, even though I’ve tried to shield you from it, get treated differently.”

 

“Is that why”- Mycroft begins with a quick glance at his brother-“We weren't introduced to other children for a while?” You feel even more curious. 

 

Mrs. Holmes nods. “I knew that I couldn't protect you both from such a thing forever”- she glances at Edwin and you get the feeling that he’d been the one to impress this point upon her, not to be cruel or scare her, but rather to be realistic about things-“But I wanted to protect you both until I thought that you’d benefit from being around other people your own age.”

 

Mycroft and Sherlock exchange a look. “So,” Mycroft begins, before he pauses a little as he looks back to his mother, “What exactly happened to you Mummy?” 

 

“The usual bullying”-

 

 _“Vi”-_ Edwin remonstrates. 

 

Mrs. Holmes lets out a sigh. “But the worst thing occurred during the final year of secondary school and my first year of university.” She looks around at all of you, before she looks back down at her plate. “To understand it properly you have to know how isolated and lonely I was. I was pretty much friendless. There were only one or two girls that I trusted, and even that trust only went so far. By the time I met your father,” she goes on, “I’d fallen into a relationship with a man who I thought might help ease that loneliness. He was training to be a teacher at the school I went to”-

 

“You fell in love with a teacher?” Sherlock exclaims. 

 

Mrs. Holmes bats a hand at him. “I was eighteen when we met. He was only a couple of years older than me. It was hardly indecent Sherlock.” She huffs out a breath. “Anyway,” she goes on, “He was particularly interested in maths, and though I was good at science, maths had always been my main interest. So it made sense that we got talking. I won’t embarrass you with the details but I fell in love with him quickly. He seemed like the perfect gentleman, caring, respectful, funny too,” she sighs, her eyes wistfully going to look at Mycroft and you. “But I was naïve. I’d been starved of proper human contact for so long that once I had it I couldn't get enough. I wanted more. First-year students usually live in university accommodation, as you all know, but this man suggested that we move in together. I agreed. My parents adored him. They could see what light he’d brought into my life. But I think even they thought we were moving too fast. Mother didn't want me to move in with him. She wanted me to take things slow, but I didn't listen. I just wanted him. He was all I could see. Things went wonderfully until university started. He started to become possessive, controlling. He wanted to know what my schedule was and who I was studying with. I thought it was my fault at first, thought that I wasn't juggling my time wisely, that I wasn't giving him enough. It was true that under his care I’d grown more confident, but when I began to feel like things were falling apart between us that confidence went too. Your father, who had become a close friend to me by that point, much to my boyfriend’s distaste, noticed the change in me and started asking questions. Truth be told I think I’d already fallen for Edwin by that point but I was scared. I didn't want him to get involved. Didn't want him to get hurt. I pushed him away. He kept trying to get involved. Finally when he could see that all his attempts weren't working he declared his love for me. I didn't know what to do. Your father suspected that the man I was with was the cause of my unhappiness and knowing that I couldn't talk to him about it all he left a business card for me instead of a romantic one that Valentine’s Day. It was for Dr. Magnussen, and on the back of it, it said, _‘Just in case.’_ He never asked me about it or if I was going. He just left it down to me. I went and slowly I got strong enough to re-gain the confidence that I’d lost. Strong enough to break up with the man who’d made me lose it in the first place. I know it sounds silly,” she says, waving a bit of a hand, before she re-connects it with Sherlock’s, “But I maintain to this day that being given that card by your father is the most romantic thing that anyone’s ever done for me. Better than flowers, chocolates and the rest because I was using it on me, on _us_.” She turns her head now and Edwin kisses her. She lets out a soft sigh, and as you see the clear love that’s flowing between husband and wife in that moment you hope that one day you can have a relationship with Mycroft like that. One where you’re still so much in love even though you've been together for years. “That’s why dear,” Violet says, her voice cracking a little as she turns back to you, “I’ve been wary of you ever since I realized that you were carrying something dark inside you.” You swallow. Mycroft’s hand twitches beneath yours, his long fingers curving around a little to grasp at the side of your hand. “I recognized something of myself in you,” she pauses, and there are tears in her eyes as she looks at you. “Something of the person I used to be, and, it-it scared me”- she breaks off, and you sense that though everyone in the room wants to support her right then everybody’s too transfixed by what she’s saying to do anything. “Scared me because I know what that can do…how it can effect people around you, and I don’t want that for my son. I feel bad enough that Edwin’s had to go through what he has.” You swallow. You can sense Mycroft’s eyes going to you but you daren’t look at him. You can’t. Not with Violet’s words doing circles around your head. _‘I know what that can do…how it can effect people around you, and I don’t want that for my son.’_ You shiver because you don’t want that for Mycroft either. You don’t want him to be hurt any more than he’s already been. 

 

“F/N and I”- Mycroft begins, a little hesitantly as he looks back to his mother.

 

“You love each other,” Violet interrupts, “I know, I know,” she sniffs, wiping the nose with the back of her hand. “I know I can’t stop that, and I don’t want to, not any more. I understand that the feelings between you are bigger than I’d ever imagined and that you both need each other, I just can’t help but worry…”

 

Both Mycroft and you swallow. 

 

“Did that man ever hit you?” Mycroft asks, and you understand that he’s chosen to take the conversation back to her and her experiences because he doesn’t want to think too much about what her last words had been. 

 

“No, thank God,” Violet says, pursing her lips and looking at you a little sadly. 

 

Mycroft gets up, the sadness that he feels about what his mother’s been through radiating through him as he goes towards her. Sherlock gets up and goes across too, albeit after being prompted by a look from his brother, and as both her boys place a hand on her shoulder and kiss at her cheeks Violet lets out a little gurgle of laughter, before she swats her hands at them as if they’re being silly. She cups their heads and rubs at their hair. 

 

You watch them, smiling softly and feeling like you might actually want to be part of this family one day after all. 

 

“Come here dear,” Violet breathes, and it’s only then-for you’d been watching as her hand made its way through Mycroft’s hair-that you realize she’s now watching you. You start. 

 

Then, with something that’s both eager and apprehensive inside you, you go across to them. 

 

Mycroft steps aside so that you can crouch down and hug his mother. As you do so he puts a steadying hand on you. Sherlock’s hand stays on his mother’s shoulder and Edwin places a hand on his youngest son’s back. You've never felt so connected. 

 

*

 

You’re in your room that night, unpacking the little that you've brought with you, when Mycroft walks in. 

 

The sight of the door thudding softly shut behind him makes you point at it and say, “Shouldn't you?”-

 

“It’s fine,” he assures you, before he adds, “I cleared it with Mummy. She said that as long as we keep proving that she can trust us we can have it shut, sometimes at least.” He stops in front of you, his hands going to your waist and you shiver a little as they slide around it, before one of his hands takes yours inside it. “Come,” he says, tugging you towards the door. 

 

“Where are we going?” you ask as you throw the top you’d been holding down onto your bed and allow him to lead you out. 

 

He sends you a mysterious smile over his shoulder, before he leads you to the kitchen and out through the back door. You don’t see a single soul on your way. 

 

“Wow,” you breathe as you step outside and see the stars. The chilly air hits your cheeks, making them flushed. 

 

“I thought you’d like to see them again. I’ll let you appreciate them more this time,” Mycroft tells you gently, showing you that he’s learnt a lot in the past few months as he looks back over his shoulder at you again. 

 

You feel a rush of love for him, and as he guides you to the peak of the first hill where he’s draped a picnic blanket on top of the grass-the same picnic blanket he’d used with you last summer-and you both settle down upon it you feel such a thing for him even more. 

 

As you sit close together you spend a few moments just gazing up at the inky navy sky and the stars that fill it. 

 

When you finally release a breath and look away from it, it is to find that Mycroft’s looking at you, and it looks like he’s been drinking you in as much as you’d been taking in the sky just then. 

 

You swallow, your eyes darting down naturally to his lips. The air’s cool, but in that moment, with him, you don’t feel quite as cold as you had. You shift your position. He does the same. 

 

“Are-are you sure that it’s all right for us to be out here like this?” you ask, looking away from him now and back towards the cottage. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” he says, taking one of your hands in his and toying with your fingers as he holds it out in front of you, “I checked with Mummy. She was fine about it.”

 

You nod and swallow, looking back up at the stars for a moment, before you turn to him and ask, “Earlier, at dinner, when you said about how Sherlock and you hadn't been introduced to other children for a while”-

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath and the grass rustles. He lowers your hand. You slide your hand out from underneath his and place it on top of his. He looks at you. Then he looks back at his knees as he says, “For a few years the only interaction that Sherlock and I had was with each other. After what Mummy said tonight it makes more sense, but…” he trails off with a frown. 

 

“That must have been lonely,” you guess. 

 

“It was,” he confesses, looking at you again, and when you see that he’s now got his eyes on _your_ lips you clear your throat and look away hurriedly. 

 

“Um…so what were you trying to do anyway, asking around about Magnussen? You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?” you say, letting go of him now, and both of your hands shift against your knees. 

 

Mycroft frowns hard at the grass for a moment. Then he confesses, “Sherlock and I, we've been talking a little lately about it all, and we decided that it might be wise to see if Father was hiding something about Magnussen. I wasn't convinced that he’d been honest with me when I asked where he’d got Magnussen’s card from.” As he finishes you look at each other again. But although his words make sense you’re not convinced that, that’s it and that’s the end of the matter. You know both Mycroft and Sherlock far too well by now to know that there must be more. Mycroft must sense some of your feelings for he says, “After the holidays, well, Sherlock and I need to come up with a plan first, but I thought I might try gathering more evidence that Magnussen’s been manipulating you. Then confront him with it and”-

 

“Myc”- you get out in protest. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft says in the same tone that you’d used with him as he shifts closer to you, “Moriarty might not do what he did to you to anyone else, but Magnussen’s already proven that he has and”-

 

“You’re actually trusting Jane’s words now?” you interrupt him incredulously. 

 

_“I”-_

 

“Mycroft she made all of that stuff up so that she could get to you and try and stop us from being together”-

 

“She may have made some of it up but I'm not convinced that she made all of it. There’s some truth there, I'm sure there is…” he trails off. “Besides, wouldn't you like to know why she did all that and why Magnussen clearly doesn’t want you to get better?” You frown at him, still unhappy about how he’s taking Jane’s words so seriously and placing so much faith in her. _“And,”_ he says, grabbing at your hand, “If she’s working for Magnussen then he’s still in control of her, he’s still been manipulating her in some context, whether it’s as much as we thought or not is irrelevant.” You swallow, you can’t exactly protest against that, and you _would_ like to find out more about what’s going on here, that’s true…

 

For a long moment neither of you say anything. You just look up towards the stars, whilst Mycroft holds onto your hand. Then you look back at him and say, “Still, he seems to have helped your mother.”

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath, looking frustrated again. “Jane said that he _has_ to help some people. People would never think that he was any good otherwise. I think the truth is that Mummy just got incredibly lucky.”

 

You bite at your lip, again feeling awkward about him taking so much stock by Jane’s words. Then you try and push how you feel about her to one side when you get to the bigger issue and say, “Still, confronting him”-

 

“Don’t you want to stop him?” Mycroft asks, again both looking and sounding frustrated. 

 

“Of course I do,” you say fervently, “If he’s been messing me around all this time and not actually doing his job then of course I want to get him back for doing that. I just, I just don’t want either Sherlock or you, or anybody else that I care about for that matter getting hurt just because they were trying to protect me”-

 

“He came to see me.” 

 

 _“What?”_

 

“Bonfire night. Magnussen came to see me just before you got back. He said that if I tried to do anything to interfere that he’d make sure we’d never be together,” Mycroft confesses. 

 

Your head’s still reeling from everything that he’s just said, but you know one thing with certainty. “That proves it then, that man’s dangerous. I want in on this plan”-

 

 _“F/N,”_ Mycroft protests at once, alarm written all over his features. 

 

“No Myc, no more trying to do this by yourself or just with your brother. If we’re really going to do this and beat Magnussen at his own game then you need me”-

 

“Do you really think that I want to put you at risk any more than you've already been?” 

 

You stand firm. “I'm the only one out of Sherlock, me and you who’s been in regular contact with Magnussen. He may have confused me, planted doubts in my mind and made it so that Moriarty’s in my head now more than ever”- Mycroft looks uncomfortable-“But he’s not going to beat me.” Mycroft opens his mouth, still looking annoyed. “Besides,” you murmur, “It’s like you said earlier, one of your goals here is to find out why he’s been doing this to me in the first place, and I want to be one of the first to know. I deserve that don’t I? Not to hear all this second-hand?”

 

“You do,” Mycroft relents after a small hesitation. 

 

“So, am I in?” you ask, looking at him a little challengingly, whilst your breath hitches in your chest. 

 

“F/N I don’t want you getting hurt,” Mycroft says, holding your hand still.

 

“And I don’t want _you_ to get hurt,” you say, feeling rather maddened by him, “But the only way that I can lessen my worry about that is if I'm completely in on all of this.” 

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath and looks across the grass, before he looks up at the stars as if he’s seeking guidance. “All right,” he relents and your face brightens at once, before it becomes a little stiffer when Mycroft looks at you seriously and adds, “But you’re to do exactly what I say. No matter what you think about it, even if you disagree. I can’t have you getting hurt again.” You look at him steadily for a moment, but he just looks at you all the more seriously and you can see how important this is to him just from looking into his eyes. 

 

“Okay,” you agree, and Mycroft huffs out a breath of relief. “But now can we just try and forget about Magnussen for one night?” you say, lying back on the picnic blanket. “I just want to appreciate all of this.”

 

Mycroft makes a sound of assent and lies down beside you. 

 

You turn slightly and snuggle close to him; placing a hand on his chest and not knowing how crazily it makes his heart leap as you do so. 

 

It feels like you’re camping with the stars above you and the grass all around you, or as if you’re on your own private island with Mycroft. His scent drifts in the air; tangy, pleasant and sweet. You let out a soft sigh of contentment and shift even closer to him, your hand drifting a little across his chest. Mycroft turns his head towards you and you share the most innocent of chaste kisses without even thinking about it, before you push your head down against his chest. He puts an arm around you, feeling happier and more content than he’s done in an age. 

 

“Hello dears,” Violet’s voice comes and Mycroft and you bolt up into a sitting position at once, Mycroft putting a steadying hand on your back when he partly crashes into the back of you. 

 

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are walking up the hill towards you both. Edwin's carrying a picnic blanket underneath his arm and Violet smiles softly when she sees you. 

 

“Mummy we weren't”- Mycroft begins with a bit of a flush on his face, whilst your stomach churns a little anxiously. For have you messed up things between Mycroft’s mother and you already?

 

“I know,” Violet says, waving a hand and both yours and Mycroft’s bodies sink down in relief, before she adds, “I was watching from the window.” Mycroft stiffens, whilst your mouth drops open in alarm. 

 

Violet winks at you a moment later and you get the sudden sense that though some habits die hard-because of the worry she feels-she’s looking out for the both of you now and making sure that you _both_ don’t end up doing anything that you’ll regret. “Mind if we join you?” she asks. 

 

“Not at all,” Mycroft replies, before you shift a little away from each other to create a more respectable distance. 

 

“Don’t do that,” Violet says as Edwin lays down the blanket that he’s been carrying close to yours. Both Mycroft and you look at her. “Love is all we have in the end. It saved me,” she says, now casting a fond glance towards her husband, “It can save you too,” she adds as she looks back at you. 

 

Mycroft and you both swallow and exchange an awkward look. Then you shift tentatively back towards him and he puts an arm around your waist. Violet sends you both an approving glance from where she’s now sitting beside her husband on the blanket. Sherlock joins you all a moment later, sharing his parents’ blanket and pretending to grumble a little about being dragged out in the cold because of them. He soon falls silent a moment later though as he takes in the great expanse of sky and the stars above him. 

 

“We used to do this with the boys all the time,” Violet breathes softly, looking at you and your eyes slowly swivel down so that you can look back at her. “Did you ever do this with your parents?” 

 

Mycroft’s hand tightens automatically upon your waist at the question, but it’s odd, you don’t feel as sad as you usually would at having your parents mentioned. “No,” you say softly, the one word hanging in the air for a moment. Mycroft rubs at your waist. You smile briefly at him, before you look back at his mother. 

 

“Perhaps then in that case this can be a new tradition for you?” she says, smiling gently at you. 

 

“I’d like that,” you say, but then you see some sort of stronger emotion wavering about in Violet’s eyes, as if she’s conflicted about something as she looks at you. You get up and go across to her. Then you sit in front of her, before you pull her into your arms. 

 

She lets out a gurgle, before she says, “I'm sorry for every bad word I ever said to you dear. I’ve been feeling awful ever since you said what you did earlier. I just want you to feel safe here.”

 

“I do,” you tell her, because on this night, sitting here with people who feel like they could officially be your family, you feel safer than you've done in years. 

 

She smiles and nods, getting herself under control once more as you pull back from her and shift to sit in between her and Sherlock. You keep one arm around her. 

 

Mycroft looks across at you and you meet his gaze. It’s hard to know exactly what he’s thinking, but you can tell from the small smile that crosses his face that the sight of his mother and you together makes him feel happy. 

 

You sit out there together for the longest of times, looking at the stars and listening to the grass rustle. Sherlock makes the odd comment about what constellations he thinks he can see, before Mycroft corrects him. Both Violet and you roll your eyes at each other every time this happens, laughing a little as you feel united. Aside from that though there’s little talk. Instead you just sit close to each other and appreciate the fact that you’re all sharing such a moment. 

 

When finally it’s decided to be too cold and you all get up, your breaths appearing in little clouds in front of you, you begin to make your way inside for some hot chocolate. Mycroft and you hold hands on the way as you bring up the rear. It's the perfect night. 

 

*

 

“I don’t know what you’ll make of this,” Mycroft begins when he, Sherlock and you are sitting on the floor in your room the following day, forming a triangle with the eldest Holmes brother at its peak, “But I’ve thought a lot about it and concluded that the best way to gather evidence might be to hide cameras or bugs in Magnussen’s room”-

 

“No, that’s like something Moriarty would do,” you protest, feeling completely against it.

 

“I know, and it doesn’t make me feel good either,” Mycroft says, before he tries to placate you even more with the words, “But Sherlock and I need to have more of an actual understanding of what he does in his sessions and how he speaks.” His face tenses as he also thinks that he’d quite like to know Magnussen’s exact words about him and get a better sense of how he’s been trying to put you off him. He gets the feeling that you would probably be only half-truthful if he asked. He lets out a little breath. “Besides, quite honestly, I can’t think of any other way.”

 

“There _must_ be another way,” you insist, “A way where we don’t have to lower ourselves and use the same techniques that either Moriarty or Magnussen would use against us.”

 

Mycroft opens his mouth but-

 

“You’re thinking about it the wrong way,” Sherlock tells his brother, which makes Mycroft instantly frown, “What you’re suggesting would take months to do. I thought you wanted to get this over and done with?” 

 

“I _do,”_ Mycroft insists, before he glances at you as he goes on, “But we can’t just barge in there and confront him. We need to be sensible about this, especially now that F/N’s on board”-

 

“But if we were to do that then it would mean F/N going through far more sessions than we want her to.” 

 

“I don’t mind going through more sessions,” you say, “If it helps us in the long run then I’ll do it. But I don’t want to do it with cameras and bugs in the room. Just tell me what I need to try and find out and I’ll do it myself.” 

 

“If you started acting differently or asking him questions then it could expose you and leave you wide open to being hurt again,” Sherlock shoots your idea down. 

 

Mycroft’s frown grows. 

 

“Fine,” you let out a sigh, “If there’s really no other way then I guess I’ll plant any bugs or cameras.” 

 

“You won’t have to plant anything,” Mycroft objects, before he explains promptly, “I’ll get Jane to do it. She owes us.”

 

“And you think that we can really trust her?” you push, not wanting Jane involved in any of this or anywhere near Mycroft ever again if you can help it. 

 

Sherlock waves a hand, trying to quell the mutual looks of annoyance that are rapidly forming between Mycroft and you. “No one’s planting anything. It’s too risky,” he says dismissively and both Mycroft and you look at him, “Besides, even if it all went to plan and we got the devices into Magnussen’s room safely I think it’s highly unlikely that he’d never notice them. He seems to be very much aware of people’s weaknesses so what’s to say that he wouldn't become quickly aware of any weaknesses that are in his environment too? If he found them and pretended that he hadn't and then F/N had a session with him”- he breaks off. 

 

“Fine,” Mycroft huffs out, “It’s too perilous. What’s your idea for getting evidence then Sherlock?” 

 

“I think we shouldn't bother about evidence in the first place. It’s what Magnussen’s probably expecting us to do and we couldn't exactly threaten him with it anyway. All we’d be able to do is learn from it. He knows that we wouldn't show it to anyone because that would mean revealing everything about F/N and Moriarty, and that, as F/N said before is a trial we’d never win. Besides, now that F/N’s here and in on this we can learn what we want to know from her…” Sherlock then proceeds to go on to say about what he proposes should be the next course of action. Something, which is so outwardly risky that it makes Mycroft let out a great yell of protest. Violet rushes in a moment later, a dishcloth in her hand. 

 

She looks around at you all, and when her gaze goes to you, you say, “It’s all right Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock just said something silly that Mycroft couldn't cope with.” 

 

She nods, letting out a breath of relief as she chooses to trust you. “Call me Violet dear,” she reminds you. 

 

You nod, and she leaves you all a moment later after telling Mycroft not to scare her like that again. 

 

Mycroft, Sherlock and you all turn to each other. 

 

“There’s no way we’re doing that,” is the first thing that Mycroft says. 

 

You look in between them, catching Sherlock’s eye as you do so. 

 

He can tell that you’re not quite convinced either, so he says, “Going in hard and fast and challenging Magnussen is the only way we’re going to win this. He’s not like Moriarty. There’s no point playing the game with him because he’ll always win. He might even win if we do this but it’s the best chance we have.”

 

“I don’t care. There’s no way that I'm putting F/N at risk like that. Not after all she’s been through. For you to even suggest such a thing is absurd,” Mycroft says, casting his brother a dark look. 

 

Sherlock stares at him for a moment, before he looks at you. 

 

You take a deep breath, before you announce, “I agree with…Sherlock.” 

 

Mycroft’s mouth falls open at once, “F/N”-

 

You put up a hand to stop him. “No, I know it won’t be easy and I’ll be nervous about doing it but I think he’s right,” you say. He closes his mouth. “Besides,” you go on, “This plan contains one moment of high risk, with yours I’d have felt tentative about whether or not Magnussen had discovered the cameras every time Thursday’s session came around.”

 

“It’s still one moment,” Mycroft protests, though you can tell from the uncertain look on his face that he’s beginning to crumble. 

 

“Yes,” you insist, leaning forwards, grabbing at his hand and placing it in between both of yours, “But the fact that Sherlock and you, and anyone else that we can rope in to help, will know that I'm at risk and that you’ll be close by is far better than you all becoming anxious every Thursday, and not always being able to be so close by.”

 

Mycroft thinks about it all for a moment longer. Sherlock and you look at him rather desperately, urging him to make the right choice. Finally, after letting out a small breath, he nods. 

 

You smile briefly, before your face becomes more serious again when the full weight of what you’ll all have to do hits you. 

 

*

 

Christmas dawns two days later, and though your mind has been on the plan that Mycroft, Sherlock and you have been working on you hope that for one day you’ll be able to forget about it. 

 

Everyone’s already gathered in the kitchen having breakfast when you walk in. Mycroft has been sitting by the table quite forlornly, resting his head on his hand, but as soon as he sees you his face brightens and he gets up at once. He goes across to you and holds onto your shoulders as he kisses both of your cheeks. Your face heats up and you give him a sort of embarrassed grin as he draws back from you. 

 

“Merry Christmas F/N.” 

 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile back, already feeling like this is going to be a good day and a much better Christmas than last year as you peer over his shoulder at everyone.

 

“He was miserable until you arrived dear,” Violet says, smiling at you from where she’s standing by the cooker seeing to the bacon. 

 

 _“Mummy!”_ Mycroft protests, looking embarrassed and half-whirling around to her. He turns back to you when you place a reassuring hand on his arm. 

 

“It’s true,” Sherlock pipes up, “He’s been complaining and saying that Christmas is already lasting too long, but as soon as you, his…whatever you are to each other came in, he perked right up.”

 

“They’re best friends, and one day they’ll be something more,” Violet informs Sherlock when she sees how embarrassed both Mycroft and you look as you join everyone at the table. 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, and he does so once more when he sees how Mycroft and you share a shy smile with each other across the table, whilst Violet looks on with a pleased expression. 

 

After breakfast you all move into the living room. You sit on the floor beside the armchair that Mycroft’s sitting on-he’d offered to give you the chair but you’d refused, wanting to observe what a normal Holmes Christmas might be like from a distance. Sherlock meanwhile sits in the other armchair, whilst Violet and Edwin take up the settee. 

 

You watch them all with interest as presents are exchanged, taking in the way that Sherlock’s nose wrinkles when he unwraps the warm dark blue jumper that his parents have given him and the way that he keeps glancing at it consideringly as Mycroft unwraps his black top. As soon as Mycroft puts his on, Sherlock, not wanting to be outdone, follows suit. You smile, you can't help it. Sherlock also gets a scarf and some money to help fund his latest experiments, whilst Mycroft gets a new pair of jeans. [“You’re growing so tall dear,” Violet says fondly, making Mycroft shift his position in embarrassment and you grin, whilst Sherlock looks as if he’d quite like to be told how tall he’s getting too.] You’re a little uncertain about giving the presents you've got for the boys-especially Mycroft’s-in front of their parents, but in the end you decide to be brave and do so. 

 

Once you've retrieved the gifts from where you've been keeping them in your rucksack, you go across and give Sherlock’s his first. He starts ripping into it as soon as you move away, and by the time you turn back around he’s already staring down at the book you've given him on unsolved mysteries [criminal and otherwise] of the last century. 

 

“I know it’s a little unconventional,” you say, knowing that his parents might think it an odd sort of gift. 

 

Edwin lets out a chuckle. “Well that’s all right because I don’t think we've ever been conventional,” he says, making you feel instantly better, and Violet too seems to have no objection towards the gift you've given.

 

“I thought you might enjoy looking through it and trying to solve them,” you tell Sherlock. 

 

He looks at you for a moment, his blue eyes shimmering. “Thank you,” he says, looking at you curiously, and you know that he’ s wondering why you've got him a gift. Clearly he has no idea how much he’s been like a little brother to you, _or_ how grateful you feel every time you think about what he’s done and is trying to do for you. 

 

“Don’t race through them though Sherlock, keep them for when you’re bored,” Mycroft suggests with a mischievous little twinkle in his eye, and you turn towards him with a grin upon your face. Then you bridge the distance between you and rub a hand across his shoulder. “Happy Christmas Myc,” you say as you hand his gift to him. 

 

He smiles, looking down at it as if he’s just trying to savour the moment. 

 

“Get on with it,” Sherlock urges. 

 

Mycroft’s head snaps up. “What about John and you? Didn't you get each other anything?” he asks as he looks around you at his brother. 

 

You turn, feeling surprised when you see a pink blush on Sherlock’s cheeks, “We already gave each other our presents,” he says, not looking at anyone.

 

 _“Ah,”_ Mycroft says prominently. 

 

“It wasn't anything like that,” Sherlock snaps, his head jerking up again. 

 

Mycroft looks at his brother, and as he does so Sherlock can’t help but remember the memory.

 

*

 

It had been the night before Sherlock would be leaving for home. As soon as their lectures had been over for the day John and he-but mostly John-had grabbed something from the café and gone back to John’s. They’d quickly found themselves on the bed, John on top of Sherlock. 

 

“Mummy will have to allow you to stay over next Christmas,” Sherlock groans as soon as John’s lips part from his. 

 

John quite frankly doesn’t care much about next Christmas. Right now he even finds it difficult to care much about this one what with Sherlock being everywhere underneath him. He kisses his boyfriend again. Sherlock wriggles and mumbles some protest against his lips. John pulls away from him. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask, _‘Already?’_ Sherlock’s eyes are still squeezed shut though so he doesn’t see him. A moment later he thrusts up into him without being able to help it. John lets out a breath. Somehow it both seems as if Sherlock does and doesn’t want him to continue. Sherlock thrusts up into him again. John remembers Mycroft’s words and sits up, straddling his boyfriend’s hips. Sherlock’s eyes spring open. 

 

“Thought you wanted that,” he slurs a little tiredly.

 

“Sherlock,” John says, looking at him in exasperation, “I want you to want it too, and whilst we’re at it I want your mind here. What are you thinking about anyway?” 

 

“Magnussen manipulating F/N…need to come up with plan with brother…beat him,” Sherlock says, the fragments of his high-whirring mind as well as the feel of John above him combining to make him talk all slow and stupidly. 

 

John frowns. “Why haven’t you told me about any of this before?” he asks. “Didn't I tell you to keep me informed about things from now on and trust me with them?” 

 

Sherlock shakes his head and says, “Thought you were just getting sentimental.”

 

John huffs out a frustrated breath. “Well I wasn't,” he says, “I meant it. So you’d do damn well to keep me up to speed from now on because I want to help you as much as I can; _however_ I can. Okay?” 

 

Sherlock nods. A slow smile takes over his face. 

 

“What?” John asks, feeling curious as he brushes his boyfriend’s curls back from his face.

 

“You’re going all Doctor on me again,” Sherlock murmurs, his pupils slightly blown and John smirks.

 

“I’ll be ‘going all Doctor’ on you until you listen to me for once,” John tells him, prodding at Sherlock’s collarbone now with an insistent finger. Sherlock’s smile just grows. It makes John ask, “Can we try something?” the words leaving his mouth, before he can stop them. Sherlock just looks at him. John can tell that thoughts of Magnussen, his brother and you are rapidly slipping out of his mind and that his full attention is slowly being drawn to him. “It’s nothing bad, I just”- he breaks off and gets up, pulling off his t-shirt a moment later. Sherlock stares at him. John’s all bronzed, toned and muscled. His chest almost completely free from hair apart from those that run down his navel, disappearing beneath his jeans. Sherlock reaches towards him, running a quick hand down his chest as if he’s afraid to touch it for too long. His mind feels frozen. The only thing he can concentrate on is John. John who’s looking at him carefully with so much love in his eyes. “Can we take that shirt off now?” John asks, and though Sherlock’s the only other person in the room it takes a moment for him to realize that he’s talking to him. He nods dumbly. John shifts his position, before he begins to unbutton the purple shirt that Sherlock’s wearing with deft fingers. Sherlock sits up so that he can shrug it off. He gasps a bit when their erections come into further contact. John kisses him hard and Sherlock does the same, pulling John closer and weaving his fingers through his short blond hair. They begin to push against each other until Sherlock’s lying down on the bed once more and John’s grinding against him. He does so until they both come with a gasp, the fluid spurting into their underwear. 

 

Sherlock’s head spins. He’s definitely not thinking about anything else than John now. “That…was some…goodbye,” he gasps when he can finally speak again. 

 

“No, that was exactly what the Doctor prescribed you,” John grins, before he clambers off his boyfriend and lies down next to him. 

 

Sherlock grunts in amusement. 

 

*

 

Back in the present you look at both Mycroft and Sherlock, feeling puzzled until they seem to come out of whatever daze they've gotten themselves into and look away from each other. 

 

“Why don’t you open the present F/N gave you Mycroft dear?” Violet asks softly. 

 

Mycroft gives a little start, his fingers shifting against the dark blue wrapping paper that you’d packed his gift with. He looks down automatically and slowly begins to unwrap it. You turn towards him fully, swallowing as he lets out a little breath; before he pulls out the braces you've given him. You've given him two in two different colours. One in red and one in a blue that-

 

“I thought it would match your eyes,” you tell him, waving your hand and shifting your position a little awkwardly, before you go on hurriedly, “I know it’s not much. I wanted to get you a lot more, I just wasn't sure what…” 

 

Mycroft puts the braces aside, swoops up, grabs you around the waist and kisses you. 

 

You let out a little breath as your eyes close automatically. It doesn’t even occur to you to pull away. It just feels so right to have his lips against yours and his hand cupping the back of your neck, whilst yours goes up to get caught in his hair. 

 

You pull away a little breathlessly from each other a moment later. Sherlock lets out a little groan of disgust and comes out from behind the cushion that he’d pulled over his eyes as soon as you’d begun to kiss. Edwin lets out a little embarrassed kind of cough and gives you an awkward kind of smile. Violet claps. 

 

Mycroft and you-flushed and completely self-conscious now that you've remembered your audience-turn to look at her. 

 

“I don’t want either of you to think that I'm pushing you, but my dears you belong just as you were then, together,” she says, sounding quite breathless. 

 

Mycroft swallows and turns to you. You do the same to him. “Shall we?” he asks, and you can tell by the expression that’s on his face that he’s not going to protest either way. It’s completely your decision. 

 

You look at him, so many images flashing before your eyes as you do so. You remember yourself during the summer, almost screaming at him as you broke up, telling yourself afterwards that it was for the best, that it would protect him. You remember how you’d spent the rest of that summer, feeling isolated and alone, but most of all missing him. Remember how conflicted you’d felt once you were back at university, as you’d struggled to find the right balance between what was going on in your sessions with Magnussen and how you felt about Mycroft. Remember that Bonfire night kiss and that bath and all those kind words and patience that had come from him. A desire for him begins to thrum through you, making every inch of your body tingle. A desire that you don’t want to push down any more. You remember Mycroft more recently. Remember how he’s been so determined to try and keep you safe during all of your planning sessions with Sherlock, thinking about every possibility you might face and trying to come up with the best solution to combat them. You remember Violet saying that love is all we have in the end and how it can save you. You don’t know what you’ll face in the future. Magnussen might hurt you again. Might hurt Mycroft too. All you know is that right now, in this moment, you want to face whatever the future holds in a completely united front with Mycroft. You don’t want to be scared. Scared of not being ready and making things worse, scared of the greater hurt that you might feel if you resume your romantic relationship. You want to make a board out of all the nice moments you've had with Mycroft and shatter it across Magnussen’s head. Make him see that he’s not broken you like he so clearly wants to. Make him see that he’s been defeated by Mycroft and you together. You nod as you come out of your thought. Then you lean up and kiss Mycroft again. It’s more of a chaste one this time, but it still sends fire to his cheeks and Sherlock hiding behind his cushion. 

 

“I’ve got you a present too,” Mycroft says, still looking pleasantly flushed as you pull away from each other. 

 

“Didn't you just give her it?” Sherlock grumbles. 

 

“Unlike John and you, F/N and I prefer to give each other something more than just a physical action to remember the day by,” Mycroft quips, turning to his brother. 

 

“Mykie! What John and Sherlock get up to is their own business, as long as they’re being careful of course”- Violet says, breaking off and turning to fix her beady eyes on Sherlock now. 

 

Sherlock nods falteringly, and for a moment you want to laugh at his scared face.

 

Mycroft kisses you on the cheek and takes the opportunity, whilst Violet’s attention is fixed on Sherlock, to leave the room and get your present. 

 

You put his braces further aside and sit down on the chair. 

 

He returns a moment later, holding a f/c wrapped package with a silver bow that looks like its been done with the utmost care. You feel a pleasant swooping in your stomach, and as he hands it to you and you stare at it you understand why he’d taken a moment before opening his gift just to appreciate it. You do the same, closing your eyes for a moment and just allowing the love and warmth you've felt from everyone during your stay here seep into every pore and fill you up, before you open them again and slowly begin to unwrap your present. 

 

It’s a rectangular photo-album, and as you reveal it and begin to look at it Mycroft says, “I thought you could put some photos of your parents inside it and maybe some of all of us too. There’s a little space for writing and to stick things down. I thought if you put everything that makes you feel happy inside it then whenever you feel sad you could look at it and hopefully feel better again. That’s why I got it in that garish bright yellow, I wanted it to be your happy folder.”

 

You feel like you’re going to cry. You have no words to express how grateful you feel for his gift, or to have them all around you in that moment. You put the photo-album aside, get up and fling your arms around his neck. 

 

He releases a little breath at the force of you, before he ducks his head down by yours, scrutinizing the sound of your breathing. When he hears it catch a little as you begin to cry he draws his head back a little and says in alarm, “I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean”-

 

“I love it,” you tell him in a gurgle, swiping at your eyes with your hand, before you cup at his cheeks. “I'm sorry Sherlock,” you say, giggling a little now, whilst Mycroft looks at you in puzzlement, “But I have to do this.” Then, without further ado, you break off and kiss Mycroft hard. 

 

It’s his turn to release a breath. He almost staggers backwards too, but you pull him back towards you and kiss him for a few moments longer, before you pull away from him. 

 

Mycroft looks dazed. But it’s his mother who you look at as you feel worried that you might have been too forceful with her son just now for her liking. To your surprise though she’s crying and looking like the whole thing has just moved her. “Oh dears,” she says, as Sherlock slowly comes out from behind his cushion. Edwin too looks like he’s got some moisture in his eyes, and in that moment you feel a ridiculous amount of love surge through you for each and every one of them, but most of all, of course, for Mycroft whose still got a silly expression on his face from the kiss. “Edwin and I have got you a little something too F/N,” Violet continues, dabbing at her eyes a little with a handkerchief that she’s just pulled out from her pocket. You look at her curiously, your mouth opening. She pulls something else out from her pocket in the next moment and hands it to you. 

 

It’s a small envelope and you open it curiously, letting out a surprised gasp when you see that it’s a gift card to the value of thirty-five pounds for one of your favourite clothing stores. “Mrs. Holmes,” you say, forgetting to call her Violet, “I can’t, it’s far too much.”

 

“Nonsense, just treat yourself dear,” she says dismissively, waving a hand, before she adds, “I’m only sorry that we haven’t got you anything more substantial.” She sounds a little downcast. 

 

“This is amazing,” you say, faltering still, “But I haven’t got you anything”-

 

“You gave me a deeper understanding of yourself, that’s enough,” she says firmly, coming across to hug you, and you hug her back, feeling grateful. 

 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

 

“Right,” Violet says, pulling away from you as the tears dry on her face, “If we've all finished unwrapping our gifts then I think it’s high time that I got a photo of Mycroft and you together. You can add it to your photo album.” 

 

She bustles off in the next moment to get the camera and Sherlock takes the opportunity to quickly leave the room. You grin, whilst Mycroft rolls his eyes. 

 

Violet re-enters the room a moment later. She directs both Mycroft and you to stand in front of the fireplace, before she manhandles you into position. Then she takes one of the pair of you standing close together. You with your hands clasped in front of you and Mycroft with one arm around your shoulders. She takes another where you’re turned more towards each other, your hands loosely linked, whilst you look towards the camera and Mycroft looks at you. You have a feeling that, that one will be your favourite despite the awkward expression you feel like you’re pulling. That’s not the end though. For Violet has five more poses up her sleeve. 

 

“Mummy, are you sure that this is necessary?” Mycroft asks, whilst Edwin looks on sympathetically. 

 

“Yes,” Violet says, sounding a little frustrated with her son now as she shifts you so that you’re standing in front of him. “I need to have a choice of which ones I send out to everyone. Besides they’ll all look nice in F/N’s photo album won’t they?” She turns her head to look at you, whilst Mycroft places his hands on your waist. “If I don’t get them processed before you leave dear then I’ll either give them to you the next time you’re here or I’ll send them along to you.”

 

“Thank you,” you say, whilst Mycroft releases a little sigh that flutters down close to your ear when his mother pulls his hands up so that they rest on your shoulders. 

 

You grin. You can’t help it. For it might be a little awkward and uncomfortable with Violet putting you into positions instead of letting you decide yourselves and pose more naturally, but with Mycroft so close to you and the prospect of staying with everyone again in the future you can’t feel anything but happy. 

 

*

 

The rest of Christmas is just as amazing as the beginning. 

 

You go for a long walk with everyone, Mycroft and you holding hands and smiling at each other all the time. 

 

Then it’s Christmas lunch and Violet has put on the most amazing of spreads for you all. The table’s weighed down by a turkey with all the trimmings, and all of it is absolutely delicious. You pull crackers with everyone and even convince Mycroft to wear one of the green paper hats. According to Violet it’s the first time he’s worn one in years. You couldn't be any happier. 

 

After all the dishes have been washed and everything’s been cleared you go to your room to make an excited phone call to Molly and wish her a happy Christmas. Mycroft and Sherlock join you halfway through and you blush when Mycroft slips his arms around your waist and kisses you on the cheek, before he tells you to wish Molly a happy Christmas. You do so, giggling a little when Sherlock decides that perhaps he doesn’t want to be in the same room as Mycroft and you after all. He does a quick U-turn, before he walks out of there. You get off the phone not long after and share another kiss with your boyfriend. The butterflies flutter up your body as you pull away and let out a soft sigh of contentment. 

 

Mycroft smiles at you. “Come,” he says, “We’re just about to play some board games.” He gives a little roll of his eyes then as if he’s far too old for such things and you laugh, pulling him forwards and out of the room. 

 

*

 

“Greg?” Molly says as soon as she hears him pick up the phone. 

 

“Molly,” Greg says, sounding surprised, and he sounds unusually loud as if he could be right by her.

 

Molly wishes that he was. She sighs a little and gets up from her bed, before she runs a hand back through her hair. She doesn’t know how to have this conversation. All she knows is that she’s fed up of all this, of not talking to Greg, of not being with him. She moves about her room, keeping her head low. 

 

“I, um, I just heard from F/N. Mycroft and her are back together,” Molly says in the end because she can’t think of anything else, despite the fact that she knows talking about your relationship again will hardly go down well with Greg. 

 

He lets out a bit of a breath. “Took them long enough,” is all he says, and Molly can tell that he’s trying to be offhand about it, but there’s an edge to his voice, as if revealing about Mycroft and your happiness has just brought back all the bad things about their own relationship. 

 

“Greg I can’t bear this,” she blurts out, ramming her hand in between her hair once more, before she lets out a breath and tries to get herself under control. 

 

There’s a momentary pause. “Listen Molly, if you've just phoned me up to talk about them again then I'm not sure”-

 

“Wait,” Molly breathes desperately, knowing that he’s moments from hanging up on her. “Just, just let me ask you something,” she urges, because she thinks that getting the answer to the question she’s about to pose will help her truly decide whether it’s worth her trying to persuade Greg to give her another chance again or not. Greg doesn’t say anything so she goes on, “Did you agree to help them with what they’re planning to do after the holidays? I know Mycroft must have told you.”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Greg says, sounding a little defensive, “I told you I’d always be there to help.”

 

Molly lets out a breath. Something inside her feels relieved. “Good,” she says softly. 

 

It’s Greg’s turn to let out a breath. “Listen”-

 

“No,” Molly says, “Just let me talk for a moment longer, please.”

 

There comes a small hesitation. “Okay.” 

 

“I'm sorry for behaving the way I did, for putting them first”- she says hurriedly in a flustered fashion. 

 

“I feel guilty, all right?” Greg blurts out without her even having to prompt him, “For saying all that, for making you feel bad. That’s why I’ve been trying to avoid you and not talk to you and stuff. I should have never made it out like it was a choice between them and me”-

 

“But you’re right, I _was_ ignoring our relationship,” Molly sighs. Greg lets out a breath. “D-Do you remember when we were first trying to get them together? When we were listening in and watching them study?” Greg hums now to show that he does. “That was so fun, but part of the reason that it was, was because I was helping them out at the same time as getting to know you,” Molly says, and she sounds a little teary, before she goes on a little desperately, “I just want it to be like that again. Not exactly of course, if it makes you upset, but I want us to talk and still learn things about each other. If you don’t want to try again then I guess-I guess I can understand, but can’t we at least do that? Can’t we at least talk and be friends?” There comes silence and Molly can tell that Greg’s thinking hard. “If we did try again though I need you to know that I'm not going to turn my back on them. So maybe that’s something you’d like to think about”-

 

“Molly,” Greg cuts her off. 

 

“Yes?” she asks a little tentatively. 

 

“Didn't you hear me just now? Trying to apologize for making it seem like a choice? I don’t _want_ you to choose”-

 

“I know, but they’re important to me and so are you. I just want to make that clear.” He doesn’t say anything. “Do you know what I thought when F/N first told me that Mycroft and her were back together?” she asks. 

 

She gets the odd sense that Greg shakes his head, before he says, “No.”

 

“I wished that was us. That _we_ could be the ones trying again and hopefully doing better this time,” Molly confesses. 

 

“Well,” Greg says after a long pause, “As always you've made a good argument, so, I guess if you’re sure that you really still want to be with me after”-

 

“After we've both made mistakes,” Molly interrupts when she can tell that he’s going to criticize himself. 

 

“Yeah,” Greg laughs a little. Somehow Molly always knows what to say to make him feel better. “Then I think I’d really like to try again too.”

 

Molly beams, her face relaxes and her body instantly feels lighter.

 

*

 

You’re standing just outside of the back door, lowering your phone with a smile when Mycroft steps beside you, carrying a picnic blanket underneath his arm. The sky’s full of stars. 

 

“Found out something nice?” he asks, nodding at your phone now, whilst an amused smile toys at his lips. 

 

“I did actually,” you tell him, feeling even happier at just seeing the beautiful way that his eyes are sparkling in the low light, “Molly texted me. Greg and her are back together.”

 

Mycroft smiles. “Then maybe we led the way for them for once,” he muses. 

 

You smile at the thought, taking the picnic blanket from him. “You know,” you say a little teasingly, “For someone who apparently wanted Christmas to end this morning you’re sure doing your best to drag it out.”

 

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want it to end any more,” he reveals a little tentatively as you both begin to make your way up the hill. He stops, holding your wrist gently with his hand as you turn towards him. “Today was”- he gets out, before he breaks off with a swallow, unable to get the words out. But it doesn’t matter, because you've got the perfect word for him. 

 

“Beautiful,” you say, and he nods. 

 

Then, both feeling pleased you continue to make your way up the hill to talk about nonsense and watch the stars, and as you do you feel like all of your dreams are starting to come true.

 

*

It’s back to planning on Boxing Day, with Sherlock both grumbling and insisting that yesterday had been lost due to Mycroft and you making moon eyes at each other, despite the fact that you’d reminded him it had been Christmas. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile is taking things equally as seriously as his brother, and as you observe how ruthlessly determined they both are in laying the plan out, going over and over it until your head’s thrumming from it, you think that you’re glad that you’re friends with them and not the one whose at the receiving end. 

 

Things continue in this same vein until you leave. Violet hugs you tightly as she sees you on your way and promises that she’ll send the Christmas photos on to you, before she makes you swear that you’ll get in touch with her if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk. You feel more grateful for her and Edwin’s support than they could ever know, and you’re glad that you’d got Mycroft to drive you into town the other day to pick up some flowers so that you could give it to them as a gesture of thanks. Glad that you could leave them with something, even if it was only something small. 

 

When you’re back at university the planning continues, this time with Molly, Greg and John all being included, and by the time that it’s Wednesday night and the night before the big day, you've got bubbles of anticipation floating all through your stomach. 

 

“Trying to distract yourself?” Mycroft asks with a gentle kind of knowingness as he slips into your room. 

 

You look up from where you’re sat on the floor in between your desk chair and your bed. The photo album is open in front of you and photos and bits of plain paper lay randomly scattered around you. “Mmm,” you say, your head still bowed towards the album. 

 

“Should I come back?” Mycroft asks cautiously. You shake your head, look up at him with a smile and gesture that he should sit down beside you. He makes his way gingerly around all the mess you've created, before he sits down cross-legged beside you. 

 

“Look at this,” you tell him, lifting a photo up off the floor and handing it to him. 

 

He peers down at it. A middle-aged man and woman stand close together, their sides touching. The man carries a small child on his shoulders. He’s looking towards the camera, but the woman is looking up at the child and she appears to be laughing. The child seems to be saying something, whilst she waves one chubby hand into the air. 

 

“Is this”- he begins, breaking off to look at you. 

 

“My parents,” you nod, taking a bit of a breath, before you tell him, “And that,” whilst you point a finger and sound a bit apprehensive, “Is me.” 

 

Mycroft looks back at the photo. The small family looks so happy, as if they have so much time ahead of them. You look fearless and innocent, completely untainted by life. In this photo, Mycroft realizes, you will remain that way forever. “Mr. and Mrs. L/N,” he begins, “You have my word that I will do my best to protect your daughter tomorrow and keep her safe.” He sounds so earnest and determined to keep his promise as he stares down hard at the photo once more. 

 

You let out a soft sigh, before you tilt your head down against his shoulder. He lets out a sigh of his own and puts his arm around you. Both of you wonder what tomorrow will bring. 

 

*

 

Breakfast is a silent affair, and as it comes to an end you go across to wash up your things in a semblance of doing something normal, despite the fact that it’s not your turn. That’s the last thing on yours and everyone else’s minds today. Such normality doesn’t last long however when you hear everyone else getting up from the table. Your stomach does a flop and you swallow. Then Molly, Sherlock, Greg and John-whose popped over early-all file out, swallowing as they all look tense and anxious. You hear the soft pad of footsteps in the next moment, before they stop just a little way behind you. You swallow. You know who it is. 

 

“We’ll be going ahead in a minute,” comes Mycroft’s familiar voice as he eyes you calculatingly.

 

You freeze up, your head bowed as you take a breath and process the fact that in a few minutes time the plan that everyone’s worked so hard on will be put into motion. Slowly, you pull your hands out of the soapy water and turn around. 

 

Mycroft lets out a little breath. He looks nervous too. He stops in front of you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “We’ll all be close by, all right? But no heroics. Stick as close to the plan as you can, and if anything goes wrong then try and get yourself out.”

 

You nod and let out a bit of a breath, but you feel worried. You can’t help it. So many things could still go wrong. Not to mention that you've just got a really uneasy feeling about the day, as if you've forgotten to do something but you can’t remember what it is. 

 

“F/N?” Mycroft questions, and you can tell that he senses something’s not quite right. 

 

“I'm worried,” you confess, pushing closer towards him, “Worried about all of you, about all of this.”

 

Mycroft looks at you, his mouth opening slightly, but you can tell that as much as he’d like to he has little time to reassure you right now. Instead he closes his mouth and trails a hand through your hair, before he puts a steadying hand on your shoulder. “It’s just nerves. It’s fine. You’ll see, we’ll all be fine,” he settles on, and you can tell that he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. You wrap your arms around him, rubbing at his back, and you just hold onto each other for a moment. Mycroft’s hands are now down around your waist. You bite at your lip and push your head down close to his shoulder, breathing him in as you feel suddenly like a little girl who doesn’t want her father to go to work. Mycroft raises one of his hands and you know that he’s checking his watch. Your hands on him tighten. 

 

“I have to go,” he murmurs, pulling away from you. 

 

Something in your gut tells you to grab him and pull him back to you, but you don’t. “I love you,” you say instead as you try and pull yourself together. 

 

“I love you too,” he says, kissing at your forehead and squeezing your shoulders. 

 

He walks backwards out of the room, his eyes on you the whole time as if he’s trying to remember you exactly as you are, whilst you desperately try not to just run over there and fling your arms around him. 

 

He stops by the doorway. “You’ll be fine,” he says, “After today Magnussen will never be able to touch you again.” He sounds so fierce and determined that it makes you shiver. You nod. In the next moment he’s gone. 

 

*

 

It’s weird walking into the clinic and knowing that Mycroft’s nearby watching you. If everything’s gone to plan then he should be somewhere he can see the front of the clinic from. John will be stationed in the back; Molly and Sherlock will be keeping an eye on the sides, and Greg should be inside. Everyone should be keeping in touch via their mobiles, and you can already picture Mycroft sending a text to everyone to say that you've arrived. 

 

When you get in it’s to see Greg turning around with a huff from the reception desk, before he strides across to sit on a seat that’s by the wall, picking up a magazine on his way. As per the plan you pretend to be a little surprised by this display, shooting Jane a bit of a puzzled look and raising your eyebrows. 

 

“I'm not gonna leave until you get me an appointment, so you might as well stop exchanging looks with your friend and get on with it,” Greg says, looking out over the top of his magazine. Your heart flips over when you notice that the magazine’s upside down. You hope that Jane hasn't noticed. You know that Mycroft would be huffing out a breath of frustration if he could see such a thing.

 

“She’s not my friend,” Jane says coolly, her eyes fixed on her computer screen, and you’re not acting when you frown and give her a bit of a dark look. “She’s another client too.”

 

Greg’s expression clears as he looks at you. “Oh, right, sorry,” he says.

 

You nod, before you take a seat that’s diagonally across from him. Your hands fidget a little. Aside from the magazine everything seems to be going to plan so far, with Greg’s presence helping to distract Jane a little. You swallow, trying to both keep your nerves about everything and ignore Greg as he idly and loudly flicks through the magazine, which is now the right way up. Every now and again though your eyes meet and you feel a little reassured and stronger from just knowing that he’s close by. 

 

The seconds seem to tick by incredibly slowly, and as more time passes you grow more and more uncomfortable, alternating between swallowing, shifting your position and clenching and unclenching your hands. Jane’s eyes flick up to you. You still, before you frown at her without being able to help it. She’s the last person you want looking at you when you feel so uneasy. You see her texting someone on her phone and you feel a swooping sensation in your stomach. She suspects something. You know she does. Your hand goes towards your pocket. You need to text the others, warn them and maybe call all this off for today. But before your hand can get to your phone the door that leads to the consulting room opens. Your heart slams in your chest, whilst your hand freezes in place on top of your leg. 

 

Magnussen stands there, his eyes on you. You get the horrible feeling that he’s been watching you through the peep-hole and that he knows exactly what you were about to do. 

 

“F/N,” he says, beckoning you forwards with his finger. 

 

You swallow and nod, getting up. You want to look at Greg and send some signal towards him, but you can’t. You curse yourself. You’d never wanted the plan to unravel, but you definitely hadn't ever wanted it to unravel because of your own stupidity and due to the fact that you’d started to bring in your own personal feelings as you’d looked at Jane. You take a bit of a breath, there’s no time to curse yourself or beat yourself up about it now. You have to stay fully focused for the others sakes. You stride across and enter the room as confidently as you can. 

 

*

 

Greg keeps half-an-eye on you as you go in. Then, once the door’s closed behind you, he waits a moment, before he abandons his magazine and texts the others. 

 

*

 

“F/N, how are we today? Did you have a nice break?” Magnussen asks, guiding you to the armchair by putting one of his hands on your shoulders. You bite down on your lip a little at the contact. It reminds you of your very first session with him, and it’s just as uncomfortable to have him touching you now as it was then. As you come to a stop by the armchair he turns you halfway towards him so that you can look at each other. As you look into his glittering eyes you know that he knows today isn't an ordinary day, and you know that he knows you know such a thing. 

 

You swallow, trying not to be intimidated and to keep your nerve as you say, “Not bad. It was good thank you.”

 

“Only ‘not bad?’ I take it you've been having more of those nightmares then?” he asks, sitting down and you tentatively do the same. It’s then you notice that the blue folder Magnussen usually uses in his sessions isn't on the table as it normally is. The uneasy prickle inside you grows. For just as you suspected it seems like he knows exactly what’s going on and like he’s not even going to pretend for very long either. 

 

“Some,” you confess, as you keep to the edge of the chair, ready to try and run out if you have to, “But actually”- you go on, rubbing at the fabric of your jeans with your hands. 

 

“Where did you stay?” he interrupts, giving you a flash of his yellowing teeth. You feel uneasy. 

 

“At Mycroft’s,” you finally reply, something defensive and guarded about your tone. 

 

“Dear, dear, and after all I warned you too,” Magnussen tuts. 

 

“I need to tell you something Dr. Magnussen,” you say, your voice sounding rather high-pitched because of the fact that not only do you not want to let him wind you up, but because you want to get back on track with the way that the conversation was supposed to be going too. 

 

“And what might that be Miss L/N?” Magnussen asks, “Could it be that your precious Mycroft has made you come here today to tell me that you no longer want to continue these sessions?” he goes on, leaning forwards. You swallow, whilst something vibrates unpleasantly inside you, telling you to get out. “Could it be that after all my warnings you've given up and allowed yourself to slip underneath another man’s control?”

 

“I haven’t given up, and the only man who wants me under his control right now is you,” you say as you get to your feet, and as you realize what you've done and how stupid you've just been your knees bend and you sink back down a little uncertainly, before you decide not to sit back down again and straighten up. 

 

Magnussen smirks at your increasingly flustered state and you inwardly curse yourself. But he’s not smiling as he gets to his own feet in the next moment. Not smiling as he says, “I’d be very careful Miss L/N about what you say next.” 

 

*

 

“Don’t move,” Mycroft tells Jane firmly as soon as Sherlock and he barge into the clinic. The plan is for Molly and John to stay where they are and for Greg to go out and give them extra support. 

 

Greg doesn’t get very far though. None of them do. For Greg’s only just got to the entranceway of the reception when he finds his path blocked by a burly security guard who’s got a gun strapped to his belt. Another guard stands just behind him. The first grabs at Greg’s shoulders and pushes him back. 

 

It’s then that Mycroft realizes that Jane’s already acted and he sends her a quick frown, before he hurries towards the consulting room door.

 

He doesn’t get very far at all, before he hears Sherlock call out a warning, “Mycroft.” He turns around slowly. He swallows. One of the guards has his gun trained on him, whilst the other still clutches at Greg, obviously thinking him more of a physical threat than either Mycroft or his brother. Mycroft raises his hands in an act of submission and meets the guards eyes. 

 

“We’ll let you go in, but not until we tell you to,” the guard says.

 

Mycroft swallows and chances a look behind him. The guard clears his throat. Mycroft turns back. He doesn’t like being so close to the room that you’re in and not being able to step inside, especially when he doesn’t know what you might be going through. But as he looks around and takes in the perilous situation that both Greg and Sherlock could quite easily find themselves in if he makes one wrong move he knows that he doesn’t have much choice but to wait it out. He looks back at the guards. They seem to have some sort of device attached to their ears. He wonders if they can hear what’s going on in the room. 

 

*

 

Magnussen and you stare at each other for a moment. Your mouth is slightly open in anticipation, whilst you wear a calculating look upon your face. Magnussen studies you, before a smirk grows upon his features. 

 

You know that there’s no point sticking to the original plan any more. Know that Magnussen already knows too much. So, because the confrontation’s already arrived without the cavalry, you decide to be brave and say, “All this time you've been telling me to see Moriarty in my head, telling that by doing so one day I’ll be able to confront him. But it’s not him that I need to confront it’s you”-

 

“Is it?” Magnussen asks, “Tell me Miss L/N, do you really think that you’re better? That you've come so far that you can afford to say such things? That if Moriarty were to walk into the room right now you’d have no reaction to him?”

 

“Maybe I wouldn't,” you say boldly, though of course you know that, that isn't true. So does Magnussen. 

 

“Ha,” he laughs, before, “F/N,” he says, as he steps even closer now so that you have to tilt your head upwards to look at him. You want to move but you don’t. “You’re deluding yourself. You’re not better. You’re a long way from being so and the sooner you realize that”-

 

“You’re wrong,” you say, shaking your head, before you relent, “It’s true that I might not be fully better, but I am getting there. I’ve got wonderful friends and people around me who one day I think”-

 

“Who one day you think could be your family?” Magnussen chides, “Let me tell you something,” he says, before he lifts his hand up and curls his thumb around your hair. You swallow and try to stand firm. “You can delude yourself into thinking that you've found the perfect man and hold hands around the camp-fire with his family and pretend that they’re yours, pretend that you've got friends who will always be there for you, but until you properly accept and come to terms with what’s happened to you, until you properly confront Moriarty, he will always be there in the background sweetheart. You can push him to the back of your mind all you want but he will always be there, waiting and watching to ruin everything for you”- There’s some scuffling at the door. You both look across, Magnussen looking distinctly irritated by the interruption. 

 

A moment later Mycroft enters followed by Sherlock and Greg who’s still being held by the security guard. The second guard watches Mycroft and Sherlock carefully. 

 

“Ah, if it isn't Prince Charming himself,” Magnussen quips, drawing himself up and looking irritated but overall unfazed by the newcomers.

 

“Get away from her,” Mycroft growls when he sees how Magnussen’s hand is in your hair.

 

Magnussen takes a step back. He raises his hands placatingly. His eyes fix on Mycroft the whole time, “It’s like I said Mr. Holmes, the only thing I can touch is her mind”-

 

“Well you can stay away from that too,” Mycroft declares. 

 

“Poor Prince Charming,” Magnussen begins, lowering his hands now and tucking them casually inside his pockets, his beady eyes fixing intently on Mycroft as he takes a step forwards. “Poor all of you actually,” he comments, looking around at the three men. “You probably thought that you were being clever when you came up with this plan. Probably thought that you could have F/N declare that she doesn’t want to do these sessions any more, barge into this room, take me by surprise and have me on my knees and confessing to all my sins just like that.” Greg swallows and both Mycroft and Sherlock glare icily at Magnussen. “That was the plan I take it?” Magnussen asks, raising one of his eyebrows, and both Mycroft and Sherlock shift their positions. “Ha,” Magnussen laughs again, “You’re just boys, boys pretending to be men”- he looks at Mycroft now and something delicious shines in the pit of his grey eyes. “You can’t even stop me,” he murmurs as he turns back to you. You freeze up, before you try and twist away when Magnussen’s hand goes to your hair. Then it goes to your cheek. His hand is so cold that it’s like being touched by Death. “Was I in your nightmares F/N?” he asks and you cringe, once again seeing a flicker of Moriarty in Magnussen. Mycroft takes a step forward, but Sherlock puts a hand on his arm, keeping him back. Magnussen looks back at them. “I could touch her, throw her down on the floor and do what I like with her,” he murmurs, his hot breath hitting your neck as he bends his head and turns back to you. “I'm betting that neither of you would be able to stop me. Oh, you might rush forwards, you might try and pull me off, but my guards would have you off, before you could really interrupt. They could hold you back and you could just watch,” he says, before he adds, “You’d probably like that wouldn't you?” as he looks at Mycroft. “It would be the first time you’d ever seen her”-

 

“Shut up,” you say, your whole body trembling from head to foot now as you finally draw back.

 

“My, my, perhaps you are more ready than I thought to confront your past, what with you being so bold today,” Magnussen coos and he sounds delighted. 

 

“F/N get behind me,” Mycroft orders, and you can hear the trembling of something that’s like fear just beneath the firmness of his voice. When you look at him your breath catches in your chest as you see that his body is shaking too. 

 

“Ah, there we go, a little behind schedule but he’s trying to control you again,” Magnussen says as if he’s disappointed at how predictable Mycroft’s being. 

 

Your take a step back and your gaze goes to Magnussen. You want to protest or make some smart comment back, but- 

 

“F/N get behind me _now_ ,” Mycroft says with a greater sense of urgency about his voice. 

 

You remember him telling you how crucial it is that you obey and you give one last look at the pair of them, before you finally make to do what Mycroft wants. 

 

Magnussen slow-claps you on your way. It rings in your head like a drumbeat, before a hanging. You reach level with Mycroft and turn slowly around, facing Magnussen. “That’s it, you let yourself be controlled again F/N. That way the nightmares won’t ever stop and you’ll be playing right into Moriarty’s hands. He _will_ be pleased”-

 

“Yeah? Well he’s not here,” you say scornfully, and Mycroft lightly touches your arm, before he shifts a little in front of you.

 

“Isn't he?” Magnussen asks, his yellow teeth bared and your mouth tumbles open. “Didn't you bring him into this room just like you always do when you step inside it?” he goes on, and your face darkens when you realize that he’s just been toying with you.

 

Mycroft shifts in front of you so that his body is shielding yours completely. Magnussen looks at him. For a moment Mycroft just frowns. Then he says, “Leave F/N out of it. You can talk to me instead.” 

 

Magnussen smirks. “I told you not to interfere Mr. Holmes, we had a deal,” he says, taking another step forwards.

 

You swallow; and your whole body thrums in anticipation, whilst your hands ready themselves to pull Mycroft back if you have to. 

 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Magnussen goes on, taking off his glasses now and slipping them into his pocket. Your body tenses up even more. You want to speak, say something, but only a small and rather pathetic whimper escapes your lips. Mycroft shifts against you, keeping you back with his hands. “But I bet you weren't expecting”- he pauses, his hands go up to his face-“This.” Then you all watch with a horrid kind of fascination as Magnussen grasps the skin of his chin with his thumb and forefinger and slowly begins to peel his face off. 

 

A little jerky breath escapes Mycroft’s lips, before he pushes back against you instinctively. Sherlock’s mouth is partly open, his eyes wide, but when he sees his brother’s gesture he shifts to stand behind you. You sense the movement but you can’t move your own eyes, or your body. Everything’s frozen into place as you take in what’s happening in front of you. 

 

The man that you've always known as Magnussen pulls up the latex mask, revealing someone different underneath. A man who has thin, cruel lips that are upturned at the edges, a thin nose and grey eyes that are bottomless as if you’re staring into a well. But the mask doesn’t end there. As he pulls it even further back it seems as if he’s taking the very top of Magnussen’s head off with it too, the hair that you've always known standing upright and waving about a little as it comes undone. You let out a bit of a yell, crashing backwards into Sherlock who grabs at your shoulders automatically with his hands, steadying you, whilst his eyes remain fixed on this shape shifter in front of you. Mycroft whips his head around momentarily to make sure that both his brother and you are all right, before he faces the front again. 

 

The latex seems determined to stick to the man, the disguise not yet ready to give itself up, and he has to give it a great big tug-the strands of fake skin stretching within their limits, before finally it comes off.

 

Greg lets out a loud curse as the mask gets thrown to the floor, the shape of Magnussen’s face still weirdly visible as if a bodiless head has decided to take a kip on the floor. The sight repels you, making your nose wrinkle. 

 

The man shrugs his shoulders and flexes his hands, running them up through his shock of jagged dark hair, which is graying at the edges, as if he’s remembering how to be himself again. He’s older than you all, that much is clear. He must be approaching his mid-thirties, but there’s a spark of a dark sense of mischief in his eyes, as if he’s very much still the miscreant youth that he no doubt was. To you he’s the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. 

 

“Who are you?” Greg asks, struggling against his guard.

 

The man looks at him. His hands stop where they've been adjusting the cuffs of his white shirt. The grey suit that’s on him looks slightly looser, as if Magnussen’s soul, which he was trying to imitate, has left his whole body, leaving this slightly damaged shell of a human being behind. His eyes move across, fixing on yours last. He smirks. You glare back at him, shrugging Sherlock’s hands off your shoulders. The man’s smirk grows.

 

“Who are you?” you demand, causing Mycroft to let out a sound of protest at you drawing attention to yourself, before both he and Sherlock close in on you even more. 

 

“Sebastian Moran,” the man says in an East London accent, “It’s so nice to meet you all properly at last.” He turns his head. “Mycroft don’t you recognize me?” You all give a sudden start, even Mycroft. You look up at him. “You saw me trying out one of my other disguises that time you called in November. In the reception? Don’t you remember?” 

 

Mycroft’s brow furrows, his mind working frantically back through the days like someone’s fingers flicking quickly through a calendar. He remembers the grubby looking man that he’d seen looking through a magazine. His eyes widen. If he hadn't been told then there’s no way that he’d associate that man with the one in front of him, or Magnussen for that matter. 

 

“Ah, so you _do_ remember,” Moran coos, sounding sinisterly pleased now, “How”-

 

“Never mind. What’s the point of all this?” Mycroft demands and Moran’s eyes flash, something crackling through them and his entire face like a whip. You move forwards, instinctively threading your own arm through Mycroft’s. You can feel your body trembling and feel his vibrating with energy like a fuming bee quivering at having its hive disturbed. “All the disguises and the mind games. Why pretend to be Magnussen when none of us have ever heard of you in the first place?”

 

“To get revenge,” says a familiar voice.

 

 _“No,”_ you breathe faintly, whilst the hair prickles on the back of your neck. You feel dizzy and you clutch onto Mycroft’s arm all the more tightly.

 

Mycroft instinctively covers your hand with his. Then he, Sherlock and you turn around, you doing so more slowly.

 

The two guards, one of them clutching at Greg, move aside, revealing Moriarty. He nods and raises his eyebrows as if to say, _‘Did you really think that you wouldn't see me again?’_ He walks in between them, swaggering a little as if he’s a model on a runway, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a dark suit, a white shirt with the collar turned up and his shoes have been polished to perfection. That’s all you notice, before Sherlock backs away hurriedly off to one side and Mycroft pulls you so that you’re in front of him, before he pushes you hard off to where Sherlock’s now standing on the right as if you’re a rugby ball. You hit Sherlock’s chest with an, ‘mph,’ your breath leaving you in a gasp. Sherlock’s arms go around you and you twist your head around so that you can see Moriarty. 

 

He looks at you in satisfaction as he chews his usual gum. Just having those brown eyes fixed on you again makes you feel cold and your legs feel weak. A little whimper leaves your mouth. 

 

“Hi,” he says in a high-pitched voice, before he gives you a sarcastic wave. 

 

Another pathetic sound leaves your mouth and Sherlock’s hands clutch onto you even more tightly. 

 

Mycroft walks in a little half-circle, until he’s standing in front of Sherlock and you and blocking Moriarty’s path. He now clutches at the umbrella that had been leaning against the wall. 

 

Moriarty just tilts his head consideringly to one side and looks at him, eyeing the umbrella with interest. He pops his gum. “You pathetic man. I don’t need to touch her. I don’t need to touch her ever again. I'm in her mind, and I'm always going to be there. You think that you’re having a happy moment with her? _Bam!_ I'm there,” he says, clapping his hands hard together, “You see her smiling? I’ll be the reason she frowns. You hear her laughing? I’ll be the reason she stops”-

 

“And I’ll be the reason she starts laughing again,” Mycroft interrupts him fervently in a rumbling tone. 

 

“You think so?” Moriarty laughs. “You think that you can fix every one of her scars and change what has already been decided?” 

 

“What do you mean, ‘change what has already been decided?’” Mycroft asks him suspiciously. 

 

“I _mean_ ,” Moriarty begins as if he’s already very bored of Mycroft, “That one of them is endlessly fascinated with me,” he nods at Sherlock, “And the other can’t get over me," he nods at you. "Something, which will lead to both of their destruction. There’s nothing, nothing you or I or anybody else can do about it,” Moriarty finishes, waving his hands and shaking his head as if he’s genuinely very sad about the whole thing. 

 

Mycroft’s face crackles with electricity. You twist out of Sherlock’s grasp, before you take a step forward, your face anxious. 

 

Both Mycroft and Moriarty look at you. 

 

“Sherlock will never be like you,” Mycroft says, looking back at Moriarty in an attempt to distract him, “If you want to harm a hair on F/N’s head then you’ll have to step over my dead body first.”

 

Moriarty laughs. “Do you really think it will be as simple as that? That your love alone will be enough to shield her from every dark thought and every bad memory she has?” 

 

Mycroft swallows. 

 

“It will be,” you say, stepping forward when you can see your boyfriend becoming uncertain. Mycroft looks around at you, alarm coming over his features at you speaking up in such a way. 

 

“Honey,” Moriarty chuckles as he looks at you, “It might be enough for a while, but there’ll come a time, a time when it won’t be. You can guarantee that. It’s been written in the stars ever since we first met”-

 

“You think that?” you say, stepping forwards, and though your legs are slightly shaky you’re determined not to crumble. Mycroft waves a hand at you, trying to encourage you to step back, but you ignore it. “You really think that our fate is decided for us? Well I don’t. I think that we decide things for ourselves.” You take a little breath and look to the floor for a moment. Then you look up again. Moriarty doesn’t seem to care how long it takes you to talk; he just seems fascinated by what you've got to say. “I think that the real Magnussen is probably dead right now and it’s you who did that and decided to get Moran here to take his place.”

 

Sherlock and Mycroft react immediately to your words. Sherlock comes forwards so that he’s standing behind you and Mycroft steps back so that you’re properly in a Holmes brother sandwich. 

 

Moriarty just smiles. “Well you’re not wrong there. I did get Seb to take his place. He’s an actor in his spare time you see, and I couldn't help but think that this would be a perfect role for him. So I hired him to pretend to be Magnussen. Magnussen hasn't officially been reported missing or anything you see. Something, which tends to happen when you’re a bastard and no one like you”-Moriarty gives a bit of a casual shrug as if to say, ‘What are you going to do?’ 

 

“But how could you even know that F/N would be seeking help? And know that she’d end up with Moran?” Mycroft asks.

 

“You’re not wrong when you say Magnussen is dead either,” Moriarty goes on, looking at you and acting as if Mycroft had never spoken. “But you can’t blame either Seb or I for that, not for the physical act anyway,” he pauses, “I suppose you’d like to know why?” You nod. “After what happened, at the pool, with poor little Carl, my parents began to notice a change in me,” he opens his mouth now as if he’s pretending to be shocked. 

 

“They made you go to counselling?” Sherlock guesses. 

 

“That’s right,” Moriarty says, chewing his gum a little as he looks at him. A breath escapes you. 

 

“The real Magnussen was an abuser, just as Moran was making him out to be,” Mycroft guesses, and your thoughts whirl inside your head, piecing together this new information and this part of Moriarty that you’d never known. 

 

Moriarty nods. “I hated him F/N,” he says, looking at you, “I hated him for sparking all these connections that were already in place as possibilities in my head. For making them alive and real. For making them so that I couldn't think of anything else. Now you know how that feels, finally someone I actually know, _knows_ how that feels,” he says, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe it. 

 

“You don’t know her,” Mycroft says without being able to help it. 

 

“You’re lying to yourself,” Moriarty says as he looks at him, “I know F/N and she knows me. That’s the one thing we have, the one thing we’ll _always_ have. We’ll always be connected.” Mycroft can’t say anything to that. “But,” Moriarty goes on as he looks back to you, “I knew that going up against someone like him would be different from going up against someone like Carl. Magnussen was in another league…another _world_ , entirely. So I waited. In the meantime I tried to get evidence. I had to find out if he was doing it to someone else, I felt sure that he was. No one I met said a word until”-

 

 _“Jane,”_ you murmur, getting there at the exact same time the thought strikes both Mycroft and Sherlock. 

 

Moriarty nods, spits out his gum. “He’d done such a number on her”-

 

“I bet _you_ didn't exactly help,” Mycroft growls, before he exchanges a quick look with you. You can tell that he’s angry. 

 

“Well…she was there, and she was necessary. So if I made her believe that we were something more than we were, well, it was all for the greater good I assure you”-

 

“You had no right to decide”-

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t think he deserved it?” Moriarty asks, looking back at Mycroft, “He would have probably abused F/N you know, if she had gone to him”-

 

“So having F/N just think that she was being abused by him, but it not actually _being_ him is somehow better?” Mycroft asks, pulling a face. 

 

“I don’t understand something,” you say, stepping to the side and moving forwards so that you’re slightly in front of Mycroft who reaches a hand out towards you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. Moriarty looks at you. “You never particularly cared about what your parents thought, so even if they _had_ made you go to counselling, I'm sure that you could have found a way to get out of it.”

 

Moriarty smiles. Then he raises his hand up and pretends to be studying his fingernails. “I'm sure Sherlock knows the answer. Don’t you Sherlock?” he asks, glancing up momentarily and his eyes flit first to Sherlock and then to Mycroft who’s frowning. 

 

“After the first session, which your parents escorted you to, it had already become apparent to you what sort of man Magnussen was. You’d already decided that you wanted him dead,” Sherlock says, doing exactly what Moriarty wants without being able to stop himself. 

 

 _“Good,”_ Moriarty says, his brow, which had become furrowed as Sherlock spoke becoming clear again. He lowers his hand, his gaze turning to Mycroft. “Nice to have a little pet isn't it? Someone who can speak for you when you can’t be bothered. Someone who knows you, but someone you can still control. I expect you feel that way about F/N sometimes.” Mycroft steps forwards, drawing level with you. “Magnussen had to die. It was only a matter of time, before someone had a go. I confess I wanted to be a part of it. How do you suppose he died in the end?”

 

Sherlock steps forwards so that he’s on the other side of you. He exchanges a glance with his brother. “Why don’t you tell us?” he says. 

 

Moriarty chuckles. “It wouldn't be a guessing game if I told you now would it? But if you really want to know then I heard someone put a bullet in his head.”

 

“If we were to take that information to the police?”- Mycroft begins cautiously. 

 

Moriarty looks at him, before his eyes glide to you. He smirks. “They’d never find anything, and you’d need more proof than mere words”-

 

“What’s to say we haven’t been recording this conversation?” Mycroft challenges. 

 

“Oh, I'm sure that the idea occurred to you, just as I'm sure that you wanted to record F/N’s counselling sessions before,” Moriarty begins, and Mycroft’s eyes narrow, “But F/N didn't want you to do that did she? The last thing she wanted was the guilt at knowing that she’d caused two of the people she loves most in the world to become more like me…” Moriarty trails off, his eyes going to you. You do your best to glare at him, but you can feel something crumbling inside you at his words. The truth of them is undeniable. 

 

“How?”- Sherlock begins.

 

“I know her, remember?” Moriarty says, “Just like I know you two well enough to say that you’d never want to make F/N’s life all the more complicated by putting her through an impossible to win trial.”

 

“It might not always be impossible,” Mycroft threatens. 

 

Moriarty smirks at him. “Let’s play another game,” he says, stepping closer to him, and his eyes focus on Mycroft for a moment, before they go to you. A rather delicious smirk grows about his face. “Now,” he says, as his eyes go back to the eldest Holmes brother, “Prove to me how much you really know F/N”-

 

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” Mycroft interrupts him haughtily, his fingers shifting against your wrist as he does so. 

 

“Well,” Moriarty begins, “You might say that, but I can tell you one thing you've done wrong.” Mycroft’s eyes harden. “You should have trusted her at Halloween, she _did_ see me.”

 

Your breath leaves you and you feel dizzy. Your hands scrape a little against the air. 

 

Mycroft tightens his grip on your wrist and looks at you, before his eyes go back to Moriarty. “You’re lying,” he murmurs, still unable to believe it. “F/N had a fever, everyone looked completely normal”-

 

“They didn't, not for a moment. Just for one delectable moment everyone looked exactly like F/N described them. She didn't see me, but she sensed my presence. We drew back and were replaced with the people you saw when you came bursting in. She tried to tell you, but not even her knight in shining armour believed her. Maybe you would have taken her more seriously if it hadn't been for her fever. _That_ was just good timing,” Moriarty says, looking pleased with himself. Mycroft’s eyes slide to you and yours go to him. You look at each other for a moment, both of you unable to communicate what you want to. “So, to make up for then and prove that you actually know her after all, tell me, if F/N committed suicide, how would she do it?” Moriarty goes on, something delicious shining in his eyes.

 

“God, your idea of what constitutes a relationship is even more messed up than his,” Sherlock says, nodding to Mycroft. 

 

“Oh honey you have no idea,” Moriarty smirks, before his attention goes back to Mycroft again. “Now tell me,” he urges, “How would your beloved choose to die?” 

 

“F/N wouldn't do that, she wouldn't,” Mycroft says, glancing at you and adjusting his grip on you so that he’s holding onto you all the more tightly. You look up at him. He’s looking back at Moriarty, but his eyes look as if they’re seeing something else in front of him. You wonder if he’s picturing your death. _How_ he’s picturing it. 

 

“But if she did,” Moriarty pushes, “Come on, I already know how she’d do it, but since you don’t I want you to guess.” He steps back and tugs off his belt. Mycroft’s brow furrows. “Perhaps she’d hang herself,” he says, lifting the belt up and tilting his head. He sticks out his tongue as if he’s dead. “That would be ironic wouldn't it? If she used one of your belts to do it with.” He turns around and tosses away the belt with a grim look of satisfaction about his face. Mycroft tightens his grip on you, his nails digging painfully into your skin. You can feel your legs trembling. If you try to speak now you know that all would leave your mouth is a whimper, so you keep your lips tightly shut. Moriarty turns back around, holding a piece of paper. He approaches you until he curves around behind you. Mycroft shifts closer to you. You know that he wants to push you away, but he can’t. Moriarty’s testing him, testing you both and he has to stand his ground. You feel a prickling at the back of your neck. Moriarty’s there. He let’s his breath heat up your skin for a moment. “Or perhaps she’d choose poison or pills,” he says, ripping the paper up into tiny bits until they flutter down the front of your body. You shiver. 

 

Mycroft feels it and holds onto you more tightly. “Stop,” he says, as Moriarty walks back around to face you both. “Stop doing this.” 

 

“I can stop talking about it, but time will still pass,” Moriarty replies, going over to the potted plant that’s on the coffee table. He fidgets with the soil for a moment, picking bits of it up and letting it crumble through his fingers from a distance. It trickles down like sand in a hourglass. Then he picks up a handful more and begins to carry it back over, saying, “The time where F/N and you will be separated draws closer and closer, you can’t stop it," as he does so. "Soon she’ll commit suicide and you’ll be burying her. She’ll be covered in this.” He stops and throws the soil at you. Mycroft pushes you to the side, back to Sherlock, taking the full blow himself. Some of the soil falls down to the floor, but the rest clings to his clothes. Moriarty stares at him, oscillating his head from side to side. “You know what I think you should do? What I think we should _all_ do?” he asks. Then when no one does or says anything he goes on, “We should hold on to her, we should all just”- he steps forwards now, his arms outstretched towards you, looking like a toddler that’s trying to steady their balance as they walk. 

 

You push back into Sherlock and he holds onto you. Mycroft pushes in front of you both, before he wields the umbrella in front of him like a sword. “Don’t touch her.”

 

Moriarty pretends to back off for a moment, before he darts forwards and twists the umbrella out of Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft yells as he feels a shot of pain flare up his wrist. Moriarty doesn’t give him any breathing space. Instead he steps forwards, holding the umbrella sideways, before he presses it tightly against Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft’s hands go up to clutch at the umbrella instinctively. 

 

Your whole body’s visibly shaking. You want to stop Moriarty from hurting Mycroft, just like Mycroft’s tried his best to stop him from hurting you, but you don’t seem able to move. 

 

A whimper escapes your lips, “I-I don’t want”- 

 

“Give them a moment,” Sherlock tells you, speaking softly into your ear so that only you can hear. 

 

You nod, trembling still. 

 

“Ah, look at them,” Moriarty says, moving around now and forcing Mycroft to move until Moriarty’s the one standing in front of you and Mycroft’s the one helplessly staring at both Sherlock and you, the umbrella pressed tightly against his neck. “Everything you hold dear, standing there in one neat package. All bundled up and ready for disposal”-

 

“Stop! You’re hurting him! Stop!” you cry, tugging yourself free from Sherlock’s embrace now, unable to cope with the glassy look of fear and pain that’s in Mycroft’s eyes any longer. 

 

Mycroft tries to tell you to be quiet, but all that comes out is a choked wheeze. He waves a hand at you instead. 

 

“Just because I'm letting you go today doesn't mean you've won. You better hold onto her,” Moriarty warns, before he presses the umbrella hard against Mycroft’s neck one last time, releases it and tosses it aside. 

 

Mycroft staggers back a little, his hands going up to his throat. You rush up to him, your hands going to his shoulders, your eyes widening in horror at the vivid red mark that’s now on his neck. 

 

_“Myc”-_

 

Moriarty gives you both one last look, before he marches out of there. Moran and the guards closely follow him, one of whom release Greg who lets out a gasp of relief.

 

“Myc I-I'm so sorry, I”- you stammer, whilst Greg and Sherlock quickly hurry out of there to find John and Molly. 

 

Mycroft waves a hand at you. “It’s fine,” he says hoarsely, whilst you look up at him worriedly. He swallows rapidly, wanting to re-gain his voice and speak more clearly so that he can reassure you. You shake your head because none of this is fine. He takes your hand, his fingers sliding up to your wrist. The feel of your pulse reassures him. He closes his eyes momentarily. He opens them again and his lips part. For a moment he looks as if he’s about to say something important, but in the end he just shakes his head. Clutching onto each other you walk slowly out of there. 

 

You catch Mycroft glancing at the empty reception desk on your way and you know that he’s thinking about Jane, wondering what’s become of her.

 

* 

 

“Greg, oh God Greg, I was so scared,” Molly says, coming out from where she’s been hiding behind a bin in the alleyway beside the clinic once she hears him calling for her. She flings her arms around him. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her hair. “I had to hide. As soon as Mycroft and Sherlock went in two men came to stand at the head of each alleyway. They just stood there pretending to talk until a couple of minutes ago, but they kept glancing down and I know they had something to do with Magnussen. What happened? Is everyone all right?”

 

Greg peers down at her. “Moriarty’s back,” he tells her sadly, knowing that it will horrify her. Her mouth opens in despair and Greg can see that she’s remembering everything that went on before, everything that Moriarty’s capable of. He holds her tightly. 

 

*

 

“You’re quiet,” John says when he and Sherlock are in his room a little later. Sherlock’s curled up on the windowsill and gazing absent-mindedly out into the distance. 

 

“Mmm,” Sherlock mumbles, looking out at the dull coloured buildings that he can see and the peek of grey sky. 

 

“Budge up,” John says, going over and pushing Sherlock’s legs gently further towards the window so that he can sit down. “You know,” he begins, “Just because he’s back doesn’t mean that he’s going to act straight away. For now everyone’s safe and you can’t spend your whole life wondering about when they won’t be.”

 

Sherlock looks at John. There’s something both serious and pained in his eyes. But he manages to pull the smallest of smiles onto his face nonetheless. “You’re always so optimistic,” he mumbles, looking like he doesn’t quite know whether that’s a bad thing or not. 

 

John doesn’t know what to make of Sherlock's words or the way that he's looking at him. All he knows is that he wants to get that expression off his boyfriend’s face and make him feel better. He grabs at his hand. “So because of that you could let me in more. I might be able to help you with my optimism if you tell me exactly what’s worrying you”-

 

“I can’t John,” Sherlock says, tugging his hand away. He huffs out a breath, his head bending so that his elbows are either side of it as his fingers grasp onto his hair. John’s face falls. “I'm not used to it, to letting people in and… _kissing_. My brother was right. I-I don’t like change, especially when it’s to do with…” Sherlock trails off as his hands slip down and he looks back up to him. John notices that his eyes hold something wary about them as he does so.

 

“I'm still just me,” John tries to convince him, his fingers going quickly to stroke at Sherlock’s hand, before they withdraw. “I might be your boyfriend now, but I'm still your First Mate, still the person you mess around with.” He swallows. “You don’t need to feel awkward around me Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t look convinced. “You've always been so… _different_ ,” he finally settles on. 

 

John properly snorts now, “And you’re not?”

 

Sherlock pulls a bit of a face. John can tell that he’s struggling to think of how to explain. Finally Sherlock says, “You're outgoing I mean, it’s the same with Greg.” John frowns. “Take F/N for instance,” Sherlock goes on, snatching at John’s hand and toying with his fingers as he looks directly into his eyes. “Ever since we've known her she’s had that _other_ quality about her, that sense of being an outsider, it’s the same with me and my brother, even _Molly_ ”-

 

“Is that why you asked her to come and stay in the house the first night she got here? Because you felt you could relate to her?” John asks, as things begin to slide into place for him. 

 

Sherlock nods, his mind going back to that night, to the cool darkness and the smoke from his cigarette that had clung to the air. “As she came out from the union, my eyes went to her and I could tell straight away that she was lost, drifting, trying to find somewhere she could call her own.” 

 

John doesn’t quite know what to think about that, so he tries to make a joke out of it instead when he asks, “Are you saying that you can talk to F/N more than me?” 

 

Sherlock shakes his head, another small smile on his face. “No,” he murmurs, his eyes fixing with John’s. But John can tell that actually he’s only being half-truthful. 

 

“You can trust me,” he says, feeling more desperate now, “Just because we’re different doesn’t mean I won’t have your back as much as F/N, your brother or anybody else.”

 

“I know,” Sherlock says, but still John senses that something’s separating them. 

 

“Is that why we-why you struggle when things get more… _intense_ between us?”

 

Sherlock nods and looks down, hiding his head in between his elbows.

 

John stares at him for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling around inside him. Finally he gets up, pats his boyfriend gently on the knee and says, “I know that you’re not ready yet Sherlock, and that’s fine, but one day I hope you’ll trust me with all of you and let me show you how much I love you.” He sends him an encouraging smile. Then he drifts away and out of the room. 

 

Sherlock watches after him. 

 

*

 

“I’ve let you down,” Mycroft says from where he’s sitting on his bed, peering up at you. His voice is still weak. 

 

“You haven’t,” you say, trying to be firm now as you stand in between his legs, whilst you squeeze a blob of cream onto your finger.

 

“I should have believed you about Halloween”-

 

“Even if you had,” you say, huffing out a bit of a breath, “You couldn't have done anything more about it. Neither of us knows where Moriarty’s been when he’s not skulking around campus. Neither of us would have ever seen the thing with Magnussen- _Moran_ -coming anyway. We did as much as we could.” Mycroft still doesn’t look satisfied. “Chin up,” you tell him, before you let out a bit of a sigh as he lifts his head and the red mark becomes even more visible. You swallow and brush the finger that’s got the cream on it carefully against it.

 

“Promise me,” he says as you rub the cream into his neck, “That you won’t ever try and do what Moriarty mentioned.” Your fingers hesitate close to his pulse. Mycroft tilts his head down so that he can look at you, but you push it back with your fingers. You know that he’s thinking of what happened over the summer-you splayed across the top of the lake, the water just about keeping you afloat, and your angry words to him afterwards… 

 

“Do you really think I would?” you ask, trying to sound as casual as you can despite the shiver that runs through you.

 

Mycroft’s hand closes around your wrist. For a moment you both just feel each other’s pulses. You draw your hand back and he looks down. “I’d like to think that you wouldn't,” he says, fidgeting a little with his duvet, “But I don’t know what Moriarty”-

 

You swallow. You know what he’s getting at. You still have nightmares, still have dark thoughts, and as much as he wants to he can’t stop either of them. Can’t stop the way that you’d cried on your way home, your body shaking as Mycroft, who had barely been able to speak, had clutched onto your shoulder. If you can still be affected like that, even with Mycroft and everyone else being so kind and supportive towards you, then what’s to say that now with Moriarty back on the scene you won’t be affected again? You wonder though if it could ever get so bad that you’d stop seeing the light and want to take your own life. You’re tired from everything, that’s true. Tired of not knowing when the nightmares are going to come, tired of all the pain, but you can’t, when it comes down to it, ever imagine yourself ending your own life. 

 

“F/N?” Mycroft prompts, reaching up to rub at a strand of your hair with his thumb and forefinger.

 

You start a little and replace the cap on the tube, before you place it back down on the bed. You swipe your hand across your jeans and look at him. As you do the doubts and anxieties about the future swirl in your mind, but then something comes over you. “I don’t want to let Moriarty take any more of my life from me.” Mycroft looks at you. You swallow. “I would never take my own life, that’s the way I can’t help but feel, but look at all the worrying and hesitating we've done over everything this year, that’s not living.”

 

“So what are you saying?” Mycroft asks. 

 

You take a little breath, “I'm saying,” you go on, “That I don’t want to waste any more time on counsellors whether they’re good or bad. I don’t want there to be a time when we’re not together any more. I want to spend time with you, your family whenever I get the chance and all of our friends. I want to live, and if that means that in time that all the nightmares and everything else will fade then good.”

 

Mycroft looks at you for a moment. A faint smile crosses over his features. It disappears just a moment later though, turning into a frown. “But Moriarty”-

 

“I'm not saying that we should ignore the fact that he’s back or pretend that he won’t probably be popping into our lives every now and again,” you say, holding one of his hands with yours, “I'm just saying that we can’t let him taint every time that he’s not, because then when he is it will just make things even worse. I’ve tried to get better all year so far, and I know that you can blame my lack of progress on Magnussen not really being Magnussen or whatever, but do you want to know when the times that I’ve genuinely felt stronger and more myself have been?” Mycroft nods. “When I’ve been with you,” you say. Mycroft lets out a little breath. “When I’ve been with you and you've been holding me, looking out for me, or doing nice things like that Bonfire night. Whenever I'm with you I feel so safe, so protected. Even at the clinic today, when I had you around me, and Sherlock too, I felt better. That doesn't mean I wasn't worried about you though,” you go on, your voice breaking and becoming thick with emotion. 

 

Mycroft rubs at your sides reassuringly. “I'm fine,” he murmurs, as if there’s no need for you to get upset or be worried about him. 

 

You let out a bit of a choked sound and attempt to give him a watery smile. “But I just”- you begin, before one of your hands goes up to swipe just beneath your eyes, “I just don’t want to let that worry spoil things any more, not until it has to at least. But until then I just want to focus on being a good girlfriend to you, a good friend, and someone who your parents can be proud of.” Mycroft swallows. “Does that sound good to you?” you ask.

 

He looks at you intently for a moment. Then he nods, before he stands and takes you in his arms. “I think that sounds _very_ good,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. 

 

You smile, but as you pull away you can tell that he’s still feeling a little scared and troubled about what might be in store for you both in the future. 

 

“He’s not going to win,” you tell him, stroking reassuredly at the material of his top that’s just beneath his shoulder. 

 

Mycroft nods, before he huffs out a bit of a breath and guides you so that you come to be sitting down alongside each other on the bed. He puts his arm around you and holds you close for a moment. He links your hand with his. “I love you,” he says. 

 

“I love you too,” you say, squeezing at his hand, before you tilt your head down against his shoulder.

 

The future in that moment seems a place that’s both dark and hopeful, the tentacles of time stretching out to where both Mycroft and you are sitting on the bed, before they encircle you and pull you forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth part of this series-Escaping Fate-will be up within the next two and a half weeks. So please keep an eye out for it. :)


End file.
